


No Day But Today

by thesoftestangel



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, Anathema is the West End's Sweetheart, Anathema plays Mimi, Author is a massive musical theatre fan, Aziraphale is a lovesick fool, Aziraphale is a mess, Aziraphale plays Mark Cohen, Aziraphale's West End Debut, Consensual Kink, Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Crowley is a West End veteran, Crowley plays Roger Davis, Crowley was a florist whilst at drama school, Exhibitionism, Floriography, Flower Language, Fresh out of drama school Aziraphale, Hastur is Aziraphale's understudy, Jewish Aziraphale (Good Omens), Light BDSM, Ligur is Crowley's understudy, M/M, No beta I fall like Crowley, Original Character Death(s), RENT the musical, Rent References, Switches, Switches Bitches!, Thespian!Crowley, thespian!aziraphale, they are switches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2020-12-07 14:13:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 31,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20977229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesoftestangel/pseuds/thesoftestangel
Summary: Aziraphale has no idea how he's landed one of the biggest parts in modern musical theatre history fresh out of drama school, but here he is, about to step into Mark Cohen's scarf in a West End revival of Rent.Especially as his co-star happens to be the infamous Anthony J. Crowley, known for being a difficult actor to work with backstage, but an absolute legend on stage.Will an awkward dressing-room set up turn into something beautiful?





	1. How Did I Get Here? How The Hell?

“Oi, watch where you’re going!”

Aziraphale looked up at the person he had just bumped into. He was tall, towering over him. He wore a name badge that said ‘Gabriel, Music Director.’ Great way to start rehearsals, Aziraphale thought to himself nervously. He adjusted his bow tie, cleared his throat, which suddenly felt rather dry. 

“And who might you be?” Gabriel asked, “I’ve not seen you around before.”

“Ah, I’m Aziraphale Cohen? I’m…”

“The new Mark! Of course! I remember now! Well, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” Gabriel said, slapping Aziraphale hard on the back, making him wheeze in shock. “Your audition was something else, almost angelic. A whole different interpretation to the part perfect for this revival! Here’s your name badge,” he added, tossing a badge with ‘Aziraphale, Mark Cohen’ written on it in a hasty scrawl.   
Aziraphale stared at the name badge for a while. This was it. It was actually happening. This was what years at drama school had come to. This was what all the late nights skimming through the audition pages, circling ideal roles had brought him to. All the failed auditions. And what a role to finally debut with. It was a chance he was going to grab with both hands. He wasn’t going to throw away his shot. 

“Well, you are coming in then?”

“Yes, of course, in two shakes of a lamb’s tail!” Aziraphale attached the name badge to his jumper, and followed Gabriel through the stage door, into the theatre. 

Gabriel started to give him a bit of a tour as they headed towards the dressing rooms. “On your right, you have hair and costume. On your left you have the men’s ensemble dressing room, then the women’s next door. Here you have Joanne and Maureen’s room, then Collins and Angel. Mimi gets her own, you know, her being a household name and all, it gets you certain privileges…”  
“Yes, the one and only Anathema Device,” Aziraphale breathed. She’d been a year or two ahead of him at drama school, talked about in hushed, revered voices. The next West End star, they’d said. She’d waltzed into Peggy/Maria Reynolds in Hamilton after graduation, and after that never looked back. He was in awe of her talent, the way she put so much truth into the way she sung. It made sense that there were rumours of her being cast as the next Disney princess singing voice. It was all that any hopeful actor could hope for. Except for the princess bit, of course, in his case. 

“There is what will be your and Roger’s dressing room,” Gabriel said, stopping in front of a door with a crudely written ‘Mark Cohen/Roger Davis’ sign blue-tacked onto it. “You’ll get proper signs once the show finally opens for Previews. Did you want to have a look inside? It’ll be your home for the next year at least.”

“Can I?”

“Sure thing, it’s your space now. You might even get to choose which dressing table you use unless AJ has gotten there first.”

Gabriel knocked on the door. Nobody answered, so he swung the door open, and ushered Aziraphale inside. 

“Here it is, your new office!”

Aziraphale blinked. 

He’d never been in a professional dressing room before. Before, it was cramming into a poky little room with one large mirror with broken lights, with a whole cast fighting over mascara and pancake foundation. Here there was so much space. The lights were bright, the walls freshly painted white. There were two large desk ledges, with large mirrors above them, on the left and right walls. Yes, all the mirror lights were actually there, rather than smashed. None of them flickered. Next to the dressing tables, there were empty clothing racks, ready for costumes to be added once they were fitted, as well as street clothes worn between shows. The room felt so full, yet so bare and impersonal at the same time. 

“I know it’s a lot to take in on your first gig,” Gabriel said, “But you’ll make it your own. Lots of actors get fanart, cards and letters, maybe the odd plushie or bouquet. Anathema’s already looks like a florist shop, and rehearsals haven’t even started yet! Let’s hope you don’t have hay fever!”

“I don’t think I do,” Aziraphale replied, placing a hand on the back of the chair. 

“Rehearsal starts in ten minutes; I’ll do a stage call when it’s time. Make yourself at home, knock on a few doors.”

Gabriel gave Aziraphale a grin that was too big for his face and walked out. Aziraphale listened to the footsteps fading away, before shutting the dressing room door. 

This was it. 

It wasn’t quite sinking in. How the hell had he managed to pull this out of the bag? But he had done, and here he was. With a shaking breath, Aziraphale pulled the chair out, and sat down in front of the mirror. 

A nervous smile stared back at him, as Aziraphale ran a hand through his hair, a shock of blonde exploding into untamed curls. Frothy, almost. The lighting in the dressing room made his skin look paler, his eyes bluer, if that was even possible.

He sat, deep into his thoughts, when a knock at the door interrupted him, bringing him back to earth. “Uh, do come in!” Aziraphale said, quickly standing up, smoothing the creases out of his trousers.   
The door swung open, revealing a tall young man that Aziraphale had only ever seen from the stalls in the theatre, gazing upwards longingly with a reverie that only a worshiper in a synagogue could possibly understand. His long red hair was partially pulled back into a man-bun, sunglasses balanced precariously on his nose. He wore all black, jeans and a t-shirt. In his arms, he held a plant-pot holding a rather stunning aloe vera plant. 

“You gonna help me, or are you just going to stand there gawping at me for ages?”


	2. Real Life is Getting More Like Fiction Each Day...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale is a hot mess, Crowley is a grumpy, yet flirty jerk, Anathema is lovely and holy heck there's a smashed plant pot...
> 
> TW: Blood from a nasty cut.

Aziraphale couldn’t quite believe it. 

He really couldn’t believe it. 

Not only did he get to perform alongside someone he’d admired from afar, for so long, but he also got to share a dressing room. This was really too much. But he had to keep it professional, especially if they were to share for a whole year. 

He stepped forward and took the aloe vera plant from the other man. It was rather heavy, and obviously very well looked after. Aziraphale took a deep breath, steadying his grip. The last thing he needed was to get off on the wrong foot with his new, very handsome…

Oh shit.

It was like a rather embarrassing slow-motion scene in a movie. The plant pot suddenly slipped from his hands, smashing into pieces onto the floor. Soil scattered everywhere. He somehow managed to grab the plant itself, catching it by the roots, without damaging the leaves or the rest of the plant. The clean dressing room was now covered in dirt. The cleaners were going to be furious. 

Not as furious as the seething man stood in front of Aziraphale. It was a pretty good job that he was wearing sunglasses, as Aziraphale couldn’t bear to look him in the eye. 

Oh, bugger it all, Aziraphale thought darkly to himself. This really was the absolute worst scenario that could possibly have happened.

“I am so, so sorry,” he gasped, gently setting the plant onto the side, before dropping down to his knees and frantically cleaning up. He started to quickly scoop up soil and put it into the bin. 

“Two-minute call, that’s two-minute call to cast.”

Shitshitshitshitshit…

Fuck!

He hadn’t been very careful of the shards of broken clay pot, which had now sliced deep into his palm. He yelped in shock at the sharp pain. 

“Oh, here, let me help you,” the man said, with an annoyed tone to his voice. He picked up the rest of the pot shards, depositing them in the bin. He then looked at Aziraphale’s palm, shaking his head. “Give me your hand,” he said, grabbing Aziraphale’s wrist. “Doesn’t look deep enough to warrant going to the hospital for stitches,” he said, “That’s a relief. Wouldn’t hear the end of it from Bee if our newest actor had to go to A&E before rehearsals even start,” he murmured, the annoyance turning into amusement. 

Aziraphale gulped. His palm was throbbing, blood dripping amongst the remnants of soil he hadn’t quite managed to sweep away with his hands. The man took off his t-shirt, and folded it into a square, before pressing it firmly onto Aziraphale’s palm and elevating it. “Keep it raised up, and keep the pressure on the wound,” he said, “I’m going to quickly find a stagehand who’d first aid trained, as I have no idea where the kit is. Stay there!”

The man sat Aziraphale down onto the chair and left the room. 

This was not what Aziraphale had in mind for meeting Anthony J. Crowley for the very first time. He was going to be smooth, sophisticated. Not a bumbling mess of a boy who broke plant pots and bled all over the dressing-room floor. That’s all he felt he was, all of a sudden. A very silly boy who had no right to be taking the role that someone with more experience should be in. He could feel tears beginning to well up in his eyes, but he blinked them away. He already felt humiliated, he didn’t need to burst into tears in front of Anthony J. Crowley and a stagehand. This was not what Aziraphale had in mind for his first day of rehearsals for a West End show where his name was on the poster as a leading role. 

He just had to deal with whatever fate sent his way.

“One-Minute Call to Cast, that’s a one-minute call!”

Bugger. 

“I hear someone has a war wound already!”

In walks in the stagehand, a tall young man with short, dark hair wearing thick glasses and carrying a large first aid kit, Anthony J. Crowley, who was now wearing a Queen t-shirt, and Anathema Device. 

Anathema looked at Aziraphale, who gave her an awkward smile. Again, not the impression he wanted to make on these seasoned actors. “I remember you from school! You played Hamlet in one of the ends of year productions in 2017! I always wanted to tell you that you were rather good, so here it is. You were most excellent, not a lot of younger actors wrangle Shakespeare as well as you did!”

“Thank you so much,” Aziraphale said, “That means a lot.”

“Save your reunion, or whatever this is for after rehearsal,” Anthony J. Crowley said, “Let’s patch up Cohen, and get going, we’re late!”

“Right,” said the stagehand, “Let’s take a look at this cut then.” He removed the t-shirt, before taking an antiseptic wipe out of the first aid kit and giving the cut a clean. Aziraphale winced at the sharp sting but swallowed down the whimper that was threatening to come out. The stagehand then inspected the cut, which was still a bit weepy, but now not looking as horrific as it had initially done. He agreed with Anthony J. Crowley, no need for stitches, but a good bandage would suffice. This was quickly and neatly done. 

“Thanks… Newt” Aziraphale said, glancing quickly at the stagehand’s name badge. 

“Not a problem! Now, of you all pop before Gabriel gets more annoyed, he’s been yelling into my headset for the past two minutes!”

***

This was to be a read-through rehearsal, so everyone had chairs and music stands with their names and roles written on them. The band was backstage tuning up their instruments.

Gabriel was stood in front of the setup, next to a shorter person in a red beret and a shaggy black haircut. 

“We’re already nearly ten minutes behind schedule, folks, let’s get going!” Gabriel said, tapping his foot in an irritated way as the cast shuffled behind their respective music stands. 

“Before we start, we shall all formally introduce ourselves, with an icebreaker,” he said, ignoring all the groans from the actors in front of him, “How about, favourite moment from Rent? I’ll start,” he cleared his throat, “I’m Gabriel, and I’m the director of music, so will be running all the singing/music related rehearsals. My favourite moment is Seasons of Love. Gorgeous song, simply staged.”

“And I’m Bee,” said the shorter person, “They/them prounouns, please. I’m your choreographer, so whilst Gabriel makes you sound good, I make sure the movement matches,” their s’ sounded more like z’s, which reminded Aziraphale of bees in the summer, or flies. He couldn’t quite put his finger on which one. “I love choreographing Over the Moon. Such an act of rebellion deserves itsss spotlight.”

“I’m Anathema, and I play Mimi Marquez, which has always been a dream role for me, and my favourite moment is of course, Out Tonight, it’s such a liberating song to perform, and really fun!”

“I’m Aziraphale, and I’m going to be playing Mark Cohen. This is my debut so I’m terrified, but also so thrilled to be here. My favourite moment is La Vie Boheme, as it’s Mark’s chance to get up and have a lot of fun.”

“I’m Anthony, but prefer to be called Crowley,” said Crowley, “I’ll be playing everyone’s favourite has-been rocker, Roger Davis. My favourite moment to perform,” he added, looking Aziraphale dead in the eye, “is Contact.”

Aziraphale gulped. 

How on earth was he meant to survive this year?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I literally just started writing this fic, but I couldn't resist writing another chapter straight away. Who needs a good night's sleep anyway? 
> 
> For those who don't know the stage production of Rent very well, Contact is the song which is basically all of the characters having sexy times/one of the characters passes away. It's a very sexy scene that got me hot under the collar when I saw the 2016 UK tour in London. 
> 
> Yes, I think Crowley has clocked Aziraphale's crush, so probably decided to get under his skin to get revenge for the smashed plant pot. If it's any consolation, I was cringing as I wrote the scene for poor Aziraphale...


	3. Making Something Out of Nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for Aziraphale to show everyone what he can do. 
> 
> He also reveals that he has some serious chutzpah!
> 
> (I'm so proud of him!)

After the cast ran through vocal warm-ups, Gabriel clapped his hands together in excitement. 

“Sounding just fantastic folks!” he exclaimed, his smile far too big for the rest of his face. “Shall we jump in with La Vie Boheme A? Take it from Mark’s line, ‘dearly beloved?”

There were whoops and cheers from the ensemble cast as sheets were flipped on stands. Aziraphale gulped. This was it, one of Mark’s biggest moments in the whole show, his chance to be bawdy and naughty in his own way. He took a deep breath. The moment he had been waiting for, to show this company why he deserved to be here. 

The band struck up the chord. 

“Dearly beloved, we gather here to say our goodbyes…”

He threw himself into character, closing his eyes and really getting into the music, letting the notes course through his veins. His foot tapped to keep in time with the beats, helped him to concentrate on the lyrics he crafted out into the open. 

“To days of inspiration, playing hooky, making something out of nothing, the need to express, to communicate, to going against the grain, going insane, going maaad!”  
The rest of the cast were clapping and clicking along to the music. Anathema was grinning from ear to ear, he even saw Newt just off stage, who gave him a thumbs up and a lopsided smile. Gabriel smiled at Aziraphale, who kept singing. 

“To loving tension, no pension, to more than one dimension, to starving for attention, hating convention, hating pretension, not to mention, of course, hating dear old Mom and Dad!  
The band’s music seemed to swell, taking Aziraphale along for the ride, lifting his soul. He could feel his more, well, devilish side begin to be unleashed. Someone was staring intently at him, he could feel it, but for now, he decided not to try and find out. 

“To riding your bike, midday past the three-piece suits, to fruits, to no absolutes, to Absolut, to choice, to The Village Voice, to any passing fad, to being an us, for once, instead of a them…”  
He finally looked up, for the first time since the song had started. 

And there was Crowley, looking at him with a surprised awe. He’d propped his sunglasses onto the top of his head, so Aziraphale could finally see his eyes. They were golden, glistening in the stage lights. Simply beautiful, there was no denying it. Crowley caught Aziraphale’s gaze, and gave him a small, encouraging smile. Aziraphale smirked back. He realised that he could do something, something more than he would have done before. The plan was already formulating in his mind as his voice joined with the rest of the cast. All he could think about, all of a sudden, was aloe vera plants, scarlet hair and golden eyes.

“LA VIE BOHEME!”

***

“Gabriel wasn’t kidding about Cohen, was he?” Ananthema said, feet dangling off of the stage as she sat with her water bottle. She took a swig, and offered it to Crowley, who wiped the bottle cap with the bottom of his t-shirt before gulping half the contents down in one go.

“No, he wasn’t.”

“I wasn’t trying to make him feel better about Plantgate, you know,” Anathema added, biting into an apple, “I went to see the first year Shakespeare production, as a support to one of my friends, who was playing Ophelia. Even then he was someone to watch. Had no idea he could sing like that though!”

“Quite.”

There was something about the blonde-haired man that Crowley simply couldn’t quite put his finger on. He seemed familiar, yet completely unchartered territory all at the same time. He was young, nervy. But as soon as the band struck up, and he began to sing… Well, he hadn’t seen an actor in such reverie in rehearsal in all his time in professional theatre. 

Most new actors had a twinge of fear in their voice that you could pin down in a heartbeat, but not Aziraphale Cohen. When he sang, it was like the world was suddenly technicolour, like Crowley had lived in Kansas all his life, and Aziraphale was taking him to Oz to meet a Wizard at the end of a yellow brick road.

He remembered the embarrassed look on Aziraphale’s face when the plant smashed, his blue eyes looking away from his. The way he’d dropped to his knees without hesitation to clear up, desperate to please, or pacify, Crowley wasn’t sure which. But he’d looked so good as he scrapped up dirt between his fingers. How he’d allowed Crowley to tend to his cut, despite the fact that he’d just been so rude to him. How helpless he’d looked as blood dripped onto the floor. 

Then how he changed, quicker than a chord strummed on a guitar. He had come alive. That smirk was a trick up his sleeve that had unmanned Crowley slightly. Like he knew the effect he was having on him, the bastard. 

Oh, but the way he had blushed when Crowley had looked at him when he mentioned Contact. So shy and reserved. Nothing was more delicious. He wondered if Aziraphale blushed like that when he was kissed, caressed…

Goddamnit. He. Liked. Aziraphale. Who wore a freaking bowtie to rehearsals? They’d barely even spoken before, other than the smashed plant in the dressing room. 

The plant! It was going to die if he didn’t repot it as soon as possible. He’d spent ages getting that cutting to grow into the gorgeous plant it was now. Or was, at the rate he was going. Hurriedly, he gulped down the rest of Anathema’s water, much to her protestations, and hurried backstage to the dressing room. 

He opened the door without knocking and barged inside.

The room was empty, except his beloved aloe vera plant, in a brand-new pot, slightly bigger than the old one, with thicker walls, painted black. There was a note attached to it, which Crowley took off, and read:

“I do apologise for my clumsiness. I hope you can forgive me. I don’t suppose I could tempt you to dinner?”


	4. Don't Breathe Too Deep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few slips of the tongue, a drive in the Bentley and a singthrough of What You Own.
> 
> Essentially, these two have one brain cell between the two of them. Aziraphale is one hot, soggy mess!

Aziraphale was running late to his first singing rehearsal with Crowley. Why he’d agreed to a 9 o clock in the morning start was absolutely beyond him, because now he was stood at the bus stop in the pouring rain, his umbrella already turned inside out in the storm and now in a bin next to the bus stop, crumpled and shattered. The bus should have arrived ages ago, there were buses going the other way, much to Aziraphale’s annoyance. He shuddered, pulling his coat closer around himself, even though it was already wet and clammy. His first paycheck, he thought to himself, was going to get him a vehicle, if he had enough after paying the rent, he thought to himself bitterly, as a car sped past, splashing him with cold, muddy water, drenching him further still. 

A black Bentley slowed in front of the bus stop. The driver’s window rolled down, revealing Crowley. Despite the fact that it was in the middle of a rainstorm at 10 to 9, he was still wearing his sunglasses. His hair was pulled back into a full ponytail. He looked Aziraphale up and down, with a look of mild amusement on his face. Aziraphale pulled a face in return, which made Crowley chuckle. “Need a lift?” Crowley asked. 

Aziraphale sighed and looked at the automatic update sign on the bus stop. ‘No Update see timetables’ it said. “Only if you’re alright with the seats getting wet,” he said.  
“Get in then, we’re already going to be late!” Crowley said, “It’s unlocked, hop on in, angel.”

Well, that slipped out of absolutely nowhere. He hoped that Aziraphale hadn’t noticed his Freudian slip. It didn’t look like he had, but he couldn’t be sure.  
Even though he was bedraggled and sopping wet, Aziraphale looked like an ethereal being, his blonde hair sticking to the sides of his face, yet sticking up like a halo at the same time, his eyes shone brighter in the cold wind that whipped around him, making his light coloured coat flutter around him like angel wings. 

Oh, Lord he was in trouble.

Aziraphale walked around to the passenger side and opened the door. He awkwardly slid in, shutting the door carefully behind him. The car was warm inside, and the phone attached to the dashboard was playing what sounded like a podcast about random, silly facts. Aziraphale buckled himself in. 

“Jesus, you weren’t kidding, were you?” Crowley gasped, as Aziraphale dripped water all over the seat, “How long have you been stood there, without an umbrella?”  
“Probably an hour or so, after it decided to destroy itself in a gust of wind,” Aziraphale replied, “the bus didn’t turn up when it was meant to.”

“There was a nasty traffic jam that I’ve just gotten out of, so that’s probably the issue. Let’s hope Gabriel is alright with his two leads turning up fashionably late,” Crowley said, “Don’t worry too much, angel, I was late to my very first rehearsal when I was new to the game, happens to the best of us.”

Aziraphale laughed nervously, wringing his hands. Crowley watched him, raising an eyebrow. Even when he was a ball of anxiety, he still looked beautiful. 

“What was your first show?” Aziraphale asked. 

“Billy Elliot,” Crowley replied, turning the key in the ignition, “I was Billy.”

***

“Nice of you both to finally show up,” Gabriel sneered, as Aziraphale and Crowley rushed onto the stage. 

“Sorry, traffic, and Aziraphale’s bus didn’t show up,” Crowley said, “But we’re here now, aren’t we?”

“Hmmm,” Bee said, running a hand through their hair anxiously, “We have only six months before Previews, not to mention that we've wasted three months with too many one to one rehearsals and auditions," Bee said, glaring at Gabriel who shrugged nonchalantly, "So don’t do it again, or at least call if you’re running late.”

Aziraphale blushed with embarrassment, muttering something about no credit on his phone, before removing his coat and draping it over the chair just off of the stage. Crowley shucked off his leather jacket, dumping it on the seat of the chair. Both actors then re-joined Gabriel and Bee on stage.

“We thought we’d run through your big duet today,” Gabriel said, “Bee also wants to block it as well, just so we know what we are working with, hence why they are here as well.”  
“Sounds good to me,” Crowley said, sitting on the table in the middle of the stage. 

Aziraphale, stood next to the table nodded in agreement. 

He knew that this moment would come up sooner rather than later. This was the song that would seal the fate of Roger and Mark. Where they found their voices, made big choices, brave choices. He would have to be brave, lay it all bare. 

“Right, so, Aziraphale, if you could sit on the table, Crowley, you’re off stage right now, so head to towards stage right for now,” Bee said, “Remember, Aziraphale, you’ll start with your announcements for Buzzline, before going into the song.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale said, taking his spot. As he sat, Crowley got up, and their hands briefly touched. 

“Oh, err, sorry, dear boy,” Aziraphale said, blushing yet again.

That slipped out completely out of absolutely nowhere. He hoped that Crowley hadn’t noticed the Freudian slip. His hand had felt so soft, warm. He watched as Crowley sauntered across to stage right, his hips swaying slightly as he moved. It was snake-like, the way he slinked off back-stage. Everything he seemed to do had a fluidity to it, the way he moved on stage during dance rehearsals, the way he sounded when he spoke was smooth and calming, even though he tried to be all rough and ‘not any four-letter words. 

Oh, goodness gracious, he was in trouble. 

His mind was slightly elsewhere whilst Bee directed him and Crowley into their cues and places in a silent/spoken walkthrough of the scene, as the band started to come in to do their morning warm-up and prepare for the full sing-through. All he could think about was the fact that he’d left that damn note on the new plant-pot, and he hadn’t had any reply or even acknowledgement from Crowley about it. Maybe he didn’t even swing that way, or if he did, it wasn’t guys like Aziraphale, slightly shorter, slightly softer and rather awkward. He could imagine that Crowley walked out with someone a lot more modern, taller, slimmer, hotter. 

“Earth to Aziraphale, it’s time to run through the scene in full to see how it looks! Places everyone!” Gabriel said, breaking Aziraphale out of his anxious reverie. 

“Oh, right, of course, right away!” Aziraphale squeaked, rushing back to his first spot on the table, seating himself down with more force than was absolutely necessary. His face felt like the fiery pits of hell were sat on both cheeks, as he took a few deep breaths to steady himself. He couldn’t fluff this one up, just because he liked Crowley. 

He. Liked. Crowley. 

Well, then.

The band struck up the transition notes from ‘Goodbye Love’ into ‘What You Own’.

“Don’t breathe too deep, don’t think all day, dive into work, drive the other way,” Aziraphale sang, “that drip of hurt, that pint of shame, goes away just play the game…”

He leapt up. “You’re living in America, at the end of the millennium, you’re living in America, leave your conscience at the tone. And when you’re living in America, at the end of the millennium, you’re what you own…”

Crowley then walked back onto stage via stage right, staring out into the empty theatre, with a determined, yet wistful expression on his face. 

“The filmmaker cannot see,” he sang.

“And the songwriter cannot hear…” Aziraphale sang back.

“Yet I see Mimi everywhere…”

“Angel’s voice is in my ear…”

“Just tighten your shoulders…”

“Just clench your jaw until you frown.”

“Just don’t let go or you may drown…” they both sang, their voices blending together in harmony. Crowley shot a glance over at Aziraphale, who was deeply into the music, his blue eyes shining with effort as he threw his whole soul into the lyrics. Aziraphale caught his look, and gave him another smirk, just like he had before. 

“You’re living in America, at the end of the millennium, you’re living in America, where it’s like the Twilight Zone. And when you’re living in America, at the end of the millennium, you’re what you own,” they continued.

Aziraphale looked into the theatre, and saw Gabriel and Bee looking approvingly on. Gabriel even shot a thumbs up in Aziraphale’s general direction. 

“So I own, not a notion, I escape and ape content, I don’t own emotion, I rent…”

Aziraphale started to sing, “What was it about that night, connection in an isolating age,” with Crowley singing slightly behind him. Their voices distinct, Crowley’s rugged and rough, his smooth and strong, yet they complimented each other, like they were made to sing together. A match made in heaven…

“For once, the shadows gave way to light, for once I didn’t disengage…” they continued. 

Crowley picked up the tempo, “Mimi, I see you, I see it. I hear it, I hear it, I hear it my song!”

Aziraphale sang, “Angel, I hear you, I hear it. I see it, I see it, my film!” He then ran over to the telephone box, picked up the phone and sang “Alexis, Mark, call me a hypocrite, I need to finish my own film, I QUIT!” As Crowley sang “One song glory, Mimi, your eyes!”

Then, they finally turned to face each other, walking towards each other to centre stage. Aziraphale looked Crowley in the eyes, he’d removed his sunglasses again. There were flecks of blue, brown and green in the gold, which Aziraphale hadn’t noticed before. They were truly special. If he was getting paid to look deep into those eyes for eight shows a week, not including rehearsals, then he was going to be a happy man indeed, even if Crowley may never reciprocate his feelings. 

“We’re dying in America, at the end of the millennium, we’re dying in America, to come into our own, and when you’re dying in America, at the end of the millennium, you’re not alone…”  
Crowley took another step forward, “I’m not alone…”

“I’m not alone….”


	5. How Could A Night So Frozen, Be So Scalding Hot?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale goes to dry off and warm up, but it gets hotter than he could have possibly anticipated!

Aziraphale was glad that he had the chance to go back to the dressing room. He was alone in the room, as Gabriel wanted to run through ‘One Song Glory’ with Crowley one on one, allowing Aziraphale a quick break to go get changed. Gabriel hadn’t noticed Aziraphale shivering slightly in between blocking the number, or the fact that there was a small puddle under the chair that Aziraphale had draped his coat over. 

He was glad to have some time to himself, time to be quiet. The radiator was turned on. He put his phone into the speaker he’d brought from home and popped on some music. It played softly as he stripped off his shirt, bowtie, trousers and socks then placed them on the now hot radiator. Aziraphale was now stood in his boxers. He toyed with the idea of changing into his dance rehearsal clothes, that he’d left behind last Friday afternoon, but then decided against it, as he’d gotten really gross and sweaty and the only reason that they were there in the first place was that he’d had to rush off to get ready for shul. No, he was by himself, so why would he need to get changed? It wouldn’t take too long for his clothes to dry off. 

He found his gym towel and used it to dry his hair. He ruffled it, which caused it to puff up like blonde candyfloss. He hated how frizzy rain made his hair. No matter how much he had ever tried to tame it, slick it back, it always puffed up again, into frothy curls. He just about balanced his kippah on them, with extra firm hair grips.

Aziraphale sighed as he touch-checked the clothes he had put on the radiator. Nearly dry. He had a sudden thought. He wished that he’d had the foresight to bring a travel kettle and some teabags at the same time as he’d brought the speakers. No matter. 

He then leaned back against the radiator, letting it warm his back to the point where it started to burn slightly. He sighed, feeling much warmer, though wincing at the pain. He checked the clothes again. As dry as they could be. Aziraphale got back up to his feet and reached out for his socks. 

Meanwhile, Crowley had been given a much-needed break himself and wanted to dump his jacket into the dressing room. He also wanted to check on his beloved re-planted aloe vera plant, make sure it was taking to its new pot and perhaps threaten it to grow a little bit more. He nodded to Bee and Gabriel, and headed backstage to go to the dressing room. 

Maybe he’d go find Aziraphale afterwards, talk to him about his invitation. The amount of times he had come close to accepting it, the rehearsals, the post-rehearsal drinks at The Old Crown, just before Aziraphale rushed off to shul on a Friday afternoon, rainbow kippah frantically being pinned on. But he would always chicken out at the very last minute. This had been going on for a good three weeks already. Bee’s stark reminder about the time between rehearsing and previews set Crowley on edge. That would give him, well, not an awful lot of time to spend working up the courage to act on his feelings, his crush.  
Yeah, it was totally a crush, he thought to himself as he arrived at the dressing room door. 

Crowley opened the door to the dressing room with a loud thud.

He then saw Aziraphale, stood in his sky blue, tight boxer shorts, which didn’t really leave that much to the imagination. Crowley felt heat bloom on his cheeks, but he couldn’t seem to stop staring. Aziraphale was stood fairly tall, with his soft abs in full frontal view. His skin was pale and seemed to glow in the light of the mirror bulbs. If he’d looked like an angel on stage, singing, or stood at a bus stop in the pouring rain, that was nothing compared to now. His hair really did look like a halo now. Would it be blasphemy to kneel down and worship his beauty? 

Crowley wasn’t too sure. 

There was an initial look of shock and surprise on Aziraphale’s face, which then turned into a cheeky grin. He then went to lean his arm against the dressing table shelf, missed and then crashed onto the floor in a crumpled heap with a yelp of shock.

Crowley rushed forward to make sure that Aziraphale would be alright. He offered a hand to Aziraphale. “Need a hand?” he asked, trying to sound as aloof as possible, trying even harder not to stare at the bulge in Aziraphale’s boxers. 

Crowley’s breath hitched ever so slightly as Aziraphale took the hand he was offered to help himself back onto his feet. The problem was, Crowley was so fixated on the fact that Aziraphale had taken his hand, and how warm, how soft that hand it felt in his. He hadn’t realised that he wasn’t paying any attention to the weight that was put into the action, which was meant to hoist Aziraphale back onto his feet. Instead, he felt himself being pulled, before he could try to steady himself, he landed in the heap that was Aziraphale, landing right on top of his chest, the force knocking his sunglasses off of his face.

Oh, Lordy Lord, he was seriously in a lot of trouble now. 

Aziraphale was looking Crowley in the eye. Was that a few flecks of silver in his eyes, gleaming with shock and mirth all at the same time? The two men were nose-to-nose, Crowley could feel Aziraphale’s breath gently stroking his face. Oh, Aziraphale’s lips looked delicious, shaped with a very slight cupid’s bow. All of a sudden, those lips were drawn into a full smirk, as Aziraphale raised an eyebrow at Crowley, which was so damn adorably bastardly of him. 

“Most chaps offer at least dinner before they attempt anything horizontal, dear boy,” Aziraphale said, with a chuckle at the back of his throat. Crowley could tell that he was trying to put on a mock-serious ‘telling-off’ face but was failing. 

What Crowley didn’t know, was that Aziraphale was being unbelievably brave. Normally, he’d have pushed Crowley off, made an excuse, dressed quickly, and escaped. Something in his heart was telling him to be brave, to stay. Right now, Crowley was quite literally on top of him, a weight on his chest. His heart was pounding like he was running a marathon. He licked his lips, trying to make his nerves look as sexy as he could muster. He didn’t know if it was working. Was he suddenly too in his head?

“Ngk,” Crowley said. He didn’t necessarily try to get off of Aziraphale, though. He was rather warm, comfortable, safe. Something he hadn’t really felt before. 

This wasn’t a crush.

This was something that he wasn’t sure if the human language could ever truly describe. 

Now was the time to do something about it. 

“How about it then? Dinner? Just us? Monday night?”

Aziraphale smiled. He looked relieved. “Pick me up at six,” he replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THEY FINALLY AGREED TO GO OUT TO DINNER YOU GUYS! IT'S A START!
> 
> Seriously though, I'm not a patient gal, I see the Ineffable Husbands, I see fluff, I need it immediately! I may have spent my lunch break at work frantically scribbling into a notebook, after someone noted that it's a rather bad idea to let Aziraphale stay wet (I'd forgotten just how soaked the poor angel got, ahahaha!), so this is what emerged. 
> 
> My beloved, exhasperated Boyfriend, who is used to my new-love of Good Omens watched the show with me recently. When I asked him how he felt about Aziraphale/Crowley as a ship, he replied, "They're clearly in love. But it's a love that the human language hasn't invented a word or description for yet." I thought it was really beautiful, so wanted to reference it. He asks me how the fic is going, even though he isn't going to read it. He's a good guy. 
> 
> Also, I'm rather keen to get Aziraphale's Jewishness right and accurate, essentially everything I know is from GCSE RE and from internet research/reading GO fanfics where the Husbands (either one or both of them) are Jewish (I'm raised Church of England/athiest but am a rather non-observant Pagan). It's why Aziraphale will have Hastur as a regular understudy, so he won't have to perform during Shabbos/High Holy Days/Other Festivals/Occassions. If I'm making any mistakes with the customs or anything, please tell me and I'll fix it as soon as possible!
> 
> (I may have also pinched the rainbow kippah from @UlsPi 's fic Gewalt, which is worn by their Crowley, who I love very much indeed!)


	6. I Should Tell You, I Should Tell You...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley goes to visit an old mentor and friend on his way to his first date with Aziraphale. 
> 
> Obviously he can't turn up empty handed...

Crowley stood in the middle of the florist shop that was like a second home to him. He’d decided to dress as well as he could for the situation, he now found himself in. Naturally he was still wearing his sunglasses. He had picked out his best skin-tight black jeans, and thrown on a black shirt, crisp from the ironing board. He’d left his hair down, cascading down the back of his neck like a bubbling stream. His leather jacket was slung over his shoulder in a casual way. However, Crowley wasn’t feeling at all casual. He was finally going out with Aziraphale for dinner and he couldn’t simply turn up empty handed. It simply wasn’t the right way to do things, not the way he wanted to do things this time. 

Sure, he’d seduced co-stars before, for kicks. Sure, he’d spent a lot of time fucking around with punk rockers, but this was going to be so different. There had never actually been emotion in this before, lust, yes, then need to scratch an itch. But not whatever it was deep, burning in his chest like hellfire. Was he to be defeated by a sweet young blonde who looked like he’d never set foot outside of Heaven before? Perhaps so. 

He ran a hand through his hair nervously. There was a huge problem. 

The problem was that he couldn’t just pick out any old flowers and call it a day. Even when he’d given the odd bunch to a casual fling, he’d picked his flowers wisely, so that his intent was clear, mainly to himself if not the receiver. Afterall, he hadn’t spent all the years at drama school, working under the tutelage of Madame Tracy to know how to secretly tell a lover that they were just a fling, his ‘love’ was fickle. 

Heck, he’d been one of the most popular florists in the shop, sneaking secret messages of love and lust among the leaves and ribbons. He’d even made a ‘fuck-you’ bouquet for a young man who was visiting his awful mother-in-law (yellow carnations, lavender and hydrangeas, tied with brown twine and wrapped in brown paper, Madame Tracy had quite a giggle about it after Crowley told her all about it).

His usual gigs had been weddings and engagements, though, which although he felt that he’d never wish to partake in such a thing, he enjoyed weaving hopes and dreams despite himself. Madame Tracy had even suggested to Crowley that if the acting didn’t work out, that he’d have a good shot of taking on a florist business of his very own. It was something worth considering one day, when he wanted to settle in another life. He still enjoyed helping Madame Tracy out though, when she had a bigger job than she could handle with just a couple of part-time workers from the university. 

However, he loved acting. It was what he truly felt called to do. From the moment he’d stepped onto a stage in the local Gang Show at the tender age of nine, as a Cub Scout, he’d been bitten by the bug. A couple of years later, he was scouted for the role of Billy Elliot, which he played for one wonderful, star-studded summer. His family had supported him throughout, taking him to dance classes, music lessons and singing coaching left, right and centre. He was quite the theatre darling, or brat, depending on who you were talking to. His parents were so proud of him, going to every show he was in, even when he was just a background dancer in A Chorus Line at drama school. For a boy from a naval family, he wasn’t half bad. He found his world in London. In his world, he was the star, and everyone fawned over him. He always had something to say backstage, at the pub and of course on stage. 

Until an angel looked him in the eye and smirked.

For the first time in his life, Anthony J. Crowley was speechless. 

“Anthony, it’s been a rather long time!” exclaimed a warm, high-pitched voice from the back of the store. Crowley grinned. Just the person he needed to guide him in this time of floral crisis. He felt like he was going mad among the peonies, unable to see the garden for all the flowers. 

“Madame Tracy!” he managed to say, “So glad you’re actually in today. I thought you were trying to cut back, though?”

Madame Tracy, a shorter, older woman with wild orange hair and swirling skirts bustled up to him, enveloping him in a huge hug. Despite himself, Crowley allowed himself to melt into her arms. She smelled of Chanel No 5, freshly turned soil and trimmed leaves. Like home. 

Madame Tracy let go of him, looking him up and down with a raised eyebrow. “I think there’s a more pressing matter right now, hmmm?”

Crowley felt a sneaky blush creeping onto his cheeks. 

“You’re dressed to impress, Anthony,” she said, “You never make this kind of effort for a fling, maybe your mother is coming up to see you?”

“No, she’s coming up for Opening Night,” Crowley replied. 

“So, there’s a person on the scene?”

“You could say that…”

Madame Tracy stepped closer to Crowley, taking off his sunglasses. She looked deep into his eyes, as if searching for his soul within them. “This one’s different to the others you’ve known and loved before,” she said, sagely, “This one has your heart.”

Crowley gulped, his cheeks deepening in tone. Madame Tracy merely smiled fondly at him, before handing him his sunglasses back, and tapping his cheek with her hand softly. 

“You need to tell them how you feel, do you not?” she said, walking towards her workstation, grabbing her apron and shears. She tied on her apron and stood behind the station ready to work. 

“Ngk,” Croley said, “I don’t want to say too much, in case I freak him out, I’ve been dancing around him for weeks. He’s such a smug bastard, but holy crap is he an angel. I close my eyes, and I see his looking back at me, blue like the deepest, clearest ocean. The moment he looked up at me from the ground I knew…”

“Hang on, is this who I think it is?”

“I don’t know who you must be thinking of, Tracy.”

She grinned. “Are you sure? An angelic bastard who you haven’t shut up about for weeks? It’s about time that you did something about Plant Boy.”

“I regret telling you anything, if this is what I get in response.”

“Don’t be so daft, lad, I was once as head over heels in love as you are now, even if you’re too aloof and cool to admit it. The way you talked about him before may have made me initially suspicious, but this proves to me that you are in fact, in love. But now, the flowers. Tell me,” she said, staring intensely at him, “What do you want to tell him?”

“Uh, I want to tell him that I really like him, that he has possessed me, enchanted me, bewitched me, body and soul. All I can think about is him, being with him, wanting him, really wanting him…”  
Madame Tracy bustled around the shop, picking out blooms, trimming them and arranging them. Crowley stood, watching as she worked, weaving magic all of her own as she created a simple, but gorgeous bouquet, tied together with a light blue bow. 

Crowley stared at the bouquet; his breath caught in his throat. It was a breath-taking arrangement of purple and white, delicate, yet bold, with pops of red tulips peeking out of the purple roses and lilacs. Spanish jasmine was woven in with some gardenias to round off the look. The blue ribbon was clearly a nod to Aziraphale’s eyes. 

“One ‘I like you and need you in my life and in my bed bouquet’ for you, Anthony, on the house,” she said, handing over the flowers.

“Thanks,” Crowley said. He inhaled the deep scent of the jasmine and roses and smiled. Now he understood why people left the shop with a soppy grin on their faces. He checked his watch. Half past five. Damn. He was going to be late if he didn’t rush out right away.

“Not a problem for my favourite ex-florist,” Madame Tracy said, chuckling, “Now, get a move on, go win your Plant Boy Angel!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm doing the florist!Crowley trope within this piece, as I'm obsessed with Victorian Flower Language, and both of them are definitely good old-fashioned lover boys, even Crowley, deep down. 
> 
> The 'fuck-you' bouquet meanings  
Yellow Carnations - Distain  
Lavender - Distrust  
Hydrangea - Heartless
> 
> (Crowley pulled no punches for that poor dude!)
> 
> The Bouquet That Is For Aziraphale  
Gardenia - Sweet Love, Joy  
Purple Roses - Enchantment  
Purple Lilacs - Love at First Sight  
Red Tulips - Declaration of Love  
Spanish Jasmine - Sensuality (wink, wink, nudge, nudge)


	7. I Find Some of What You Teach Suspect, Because I'm Used to Relying on Intellect, But I'm Trying to Open Up to What I Don't Know...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale has a moment of Doubt about himself, but a bouquet and a book changes his mind...

Aziraphale looked himself over in the mirror stood on his dresser. He’d put on his favourite suit that normally only came out on High Holy Days for shul, a light tan blazer and trousers, but with a brown waistcoat. He’d paired it with a sky-blue shirt and a blue and grey tartan bowtie. His polished brown brogues stood by the door, ready for him to slip his feet into. 

Not too bad, he thought, as he ran a hand through his still-damp curls. He then grabbed a little black pot and screwed open the lid. He then scooped up a small amount of the thick, yellow lotion, rubbed it between his hands to warm it up, took a deep breath of the light jasmine fragrance, before ruffling his slick fingers through his hair. After he was satisfied that the product was evenly distributed, he wiped his hands with his towel, before grabbing the hairdryer to blow-dry his hair. He’d accepted his curls, after spending most of his teenage years trying to frantically straighten them to fit in with everyone else. He liked them, now, the way they turned into soft ringlets that he could ruffle into a sea-foam froth. 

Once his hair was styled to his liking, Aziraphale sighed, feeling a surge of anxiety race through him. Aziraphale looked in the mirror again. No matter what he did do his hair, how often he washed his face or what he wore, he’d always be the plain boy, the one nobody really looked at. Perhaps Crowley was yet another date that would simply humour him on the night, then forget all about him when something better came along. That had happened on way too many occasions. He had to face it. He was boring. He was a nerd. 

No, he thought to himself. He needed to be brave. He tapped the little elf cleric figure on his dresser that stood next to his jar of brightly coloured dice where his kippah awkwardly balanced. If he could be brave whilst sat around a table rolling dice to decide his fate, then he could survive dinner. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves. 

He heard the knock at the front door. 

He race-hopped out of his room towards the front door, putting his shoes on as he went. 

Aziraphale opened the door. There was Crowley, looking like he’d stepped out of a fashion spread in a men’s magazine, in all black, his pointy dress shoes shining in the light. 

“Hello,” Aziraphale said nervously, “You look great… I mean, you look well, I…”

Crowley handed him a bouquet of flowers. Aziraphale could smell the scent of roses and jasmine. Oh… Purple roses? Tulips? Red ones? Purple lilacs… He didn’t want to read too deep into it, surely, they were just flowers, Crowley wasn’t to know what they meant. 

But then he noticed the bow. Pale blue. Soft satin that felt smooth and cool against his hands. Oh. Aziraphale took a sniff of the bouquet, letting the fragrance soothe him as he took a deep breath in. Shyly, he looked up at Crowley, who had taken off his sunglasses. His golden eyes looked hopefully at him, his smile small and nervous. Oh. 

Oh.

“They are gorgeous, Crowley, beautiful. Should I thank you?” Aziraphale said softly. 

“Uh, best not to,” Crowley replied, “I’m glad you like them, though.”

“I really do,” Aziraphale said, “Let me pop these in a vase, then we can head off?”

“Sounds brilliant, angel,” Crowley said.

“Oh, come on in, it would be weird to leave you on the doorstep,” Aziraphale said. 

Crowley walked into the flat, whilst Aziraphale bustled off to the kitchen to find something appropriate to put the flowers. 

It was cosy, warm. There were bookshelves all across the walls, filled with books from religious texts, various scripts, novels and academic textbooks. There was a framed poster from the musical Fiddler on The Roof above a little fireplace. The brown suede sofas looked squishy and lived in, with tartan cushions thrown on them. There was a script for Rent sat on a coffee table next to a copy of The Player’s Handbook and a scruffy, scribbled on character sheet. 

Crowley smiled, surprised. He wandered over and picked it up. He hadn’t taken Aziraphale to be a Dungeons and Dragons player. He was full of surprises, clearly. Crowley wondered what else he didn’t know about the angelic actor. 

Aziraphale walked back into the space with the flowers now in a large mason jar, the blue ribbon tied around it. He saw Crowley looking at his Player’s Handbook, and blushed. He’d forgotten all about it, he’d been trying to level up his character sheet and had forgotten about the time before he’d frantically hopped into the shower to get ready. Would Crowley think he was nothing but a weird nerd? He blushed as Crowley looked up from the Player’s Handbook that he’d been flipping through. 

“Didn’t know you played,” Crowley said, “I used to play back at college, but couldn’t find a group up here.”

Phew. Crowley didn’t think that Aziraphale was a hopeless case after all. He breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Shall we be off? I believe the table’s been booked for half seven.”

Crowley gently put the book down onto the coffee table. “Lead the way, angel,” he said. 

As they left, Aziraphale quickly touched a little white box attached to his door frame, before kissing the tips of his fingers with reverence. Crowley watched, fascinated. 

Aziraphale stood next to Crowley. His heart was racing, he could feel it in the back of his throat. Did he try to hold Crowley’s hand? Offer his arm? What was the etiquette here? 

Silently, Crowley reached out, and took Aziraphale’s hand in his own. 

A shot of joy went through Aziraphale’s body. He looked over to Crowley, who squeezed his hand gently with a smile. Under the streetlights, Aziraphale saw a slight blush on Crowley’s face. He looked beautiful. 

Slowly, they started walking down the street in amicable silence, filled with the sound of anticipation and promise for what the evening was yet to bring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a huge D&D nerd myself (I'm a Dungeon Master/DM and a tiefling paladin depending on when I'm playing). It really built up my self-esteem and confidence in hard times, so it made sense to give this brilliant hobby to Aziraphale. He plays a cleric, because of course he does!
> 
> Also, the hair product Aziraphale uses is a genuine one! It's from Lush, and it's called R&B. It's made for uber curly hair/afro Caribbean hair, to give moisture and help with curl formation. It's fragranced lightly with jasmine and I loved it when I used to bleach the heck out of my hair. 
> 
> Here's the link: https://uk.lush.com/products/hair-styling/rb
> 
> I also can't get over how sweet Crowley is in this either!


	8. Measure in Love...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At dinner, Aziraphale has a moment when he doesn't feel like he is good enough. Hopefully a trip to St. James Park will set the record straight....

“That was scrumptious.” Aziraphale said, dabbing his mouth with his napkin.

They were sat in a little Italian restaurant tucked in a little street. Aziraphale had managed to book a table that was slipped into a cosy little corner. The lights were low, giving the room an intimate feeling. Was that someone sat in the corner playing a violin softly? Candles on the tables flickered gently, the one on their table giving Aziraphale’s face a gentle glow in its light. 

Crowley leaned in closer after the waiter came to take their plates away. 

“You don’t look so bad either,” Crowley said, winking. He grinned when he saw that wonderful shade of pink bloom on Aziraphale’s face. Crowley let his hand rest on the table, an invitation.  
Aziraphale put his napkin down. He looked at Crowley shyly, before taking Crowley’s hand in his own. Crowley gently stroked the back of Aziraphale’s hand with his thumb. He could feel Aziraphale calm, melting into his affection. He smiled. He’d been doing an awful lot of that recently. It didn’t feel normal on his face, like he’d forgotten what it felt like to wear happiness for real rather than as a mask. It unmanned him very slightly, so he focused on Aziraphale’s hand in his own. 

“You said you played D&D, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, “I’m trying to work out what class you tend to play…”

“Really?” Crowley said, raising an eyebrow, which caused Aziraphale to laugh. “How about you try and guess?”

“Well, you have a swagger about you, you’re devastatingly gorgeous, which you certainly are aware of and use to good advantage, not that it’s terrible of you, I would if I had the same luck,” Aziraphale mused, a laugh on his lips, “If you haven’t ever played a bard, I’ll eat my hat!”

“You’d better get the ketchup ready, angel, because I tend to play paladin, when I’m not running a game myself, which I prefer doing anyway,” Crowley replied, Aziraphale faux-gasping, laughing, “by the way,” he added, “You are gorgeous, Aziraphale. I wouldn’t have agreed to dinner if you weren’t. Whoever has told you otherwise are so completely wrong.”

Aziraphale’s face dropped, the laugh gone from him. He looked away from him, removing his hand from Crowley’s, a sad look in his eye. Crowley had clearly touched a bit of a raw nerve. Aziraphale put his hands in his lap and had a sudden interest in staring at them. 

“Angel, what’s wrong?”

Aziraphale looked up at Crowley. Tears were welling up in his eyes. “Nobody’s ever told me I was gorgeous before…” he said.

Crowley got up and walked around to Aziraphale’s side of the table. He knelt down next to Aziraphale’s chair, and took his hands into his own. “Listen to me,” Crowley said, his heart breaking, “You are incredible. I’ve never met anyone like you before, Aziraphale. The way you sing has enraptured me, the way you invest your whole soul into your music. I’ve never been so interested in the way stage lights illuminate an actor before, because when they focus on you, it’s all I can do to not stare. You sometimes pull faces in the mirror in the morning and I’ve never been so thrilled at how expressive you are,” he continued, letting go of one of Aziraphale’s hands, then cupping Aziraphale’s face with his hand, wiping stray tears away with his thumb, “I have never seen such a beautiful person in all my life. Everything you say and do has me desperate to know what’s next, like a story unfolding in front of me. I know it’s silly, it’s not been very long since we met, but you have absolutely bewitched me, body and soul…”

Aziraphale was staring at him, like he was trying to comprehend what Crowley was saying. It was like Crowley was speaking in a language that had been all but forgotten. He blinked a few times, and took a deep breath, steadying his nerves. 

Everyone he’d ever known had made comments about what he looked like, even his parents had sighed as he’d grown up, saying “There’s always a plain one in every family, at least you are slightly intelligent,” especially when it came to his siblings Michael and Uriel, twins with beautiful golden hair that bubbled more like a stream, perfect slim figures and sparkling green eyes. Uriel was a heart surgeon, at the top of her field, whilst Michael had gotten into law, and had made partner in two years. He was soft, maybe frumpy at best, dumpy and boring at worst. He was the gay, dull, actor brother that nobody gave the time of day to. No matter how he’d tried, it was something that he struggled to run away from. It haunted him every time he walked into the dressing room, looking into his reflection in the giant mirror, with Crowley behind him, so perfect and brilliant.

Yet here he was, looking him in the eye and telling him he was beautiful. 

“Shall we get out of here?” Crowley asked, “I can pinch the rest of the breadbasket for us to feed to some ducks, if you like?”

Aziraphale sniffed. “That sounds lovely, dear.”

****

The two men stood side by side in St. James Park. The ducks were surprised to see people this late at night but were not going to begrudge a midnight feast. Aziraphale ripped up some bread, and gently tossed it at the ducks, who squabbled over the best chunks. 

“Thanks for getting dinner,” Aziraphale said shyly.

“Not a problem,” Crowley replied casually, “You can treat me next time,” he added, with a wicked grin, lobbing a chunk of bread into the lake. It hit a swan, that hissed at him in annoyance, before eating the bread. Aziraphale chuckled at the swan. It was a musical chuckle, warm and genuine. Yet it felt like it was dusty, like he hadn’t laughed properly in a long time. It made Crowley feel slightly sad. He stepped closer to Aziraphale and offered his arm. After a slight pause of hesitation, Aziraphale accepted the arm, and gently snuggled into Crowley’s side. It felt like he was slotting into place, like he should have always been there. The thought both thrilled and frightened Crowley. All these feelings were so new, so unknown. 

“Who knew that the Anthony J. Crowley enjoyed feeding the ducks,” Aziraphale said, looking up at Crowley with a gentle smirk.

“Well, the Anthony J. Crowley enjoys a lot of things, angel,” Crowley said, “Music, plants, Bond movies, you…”

Aziraphale blushed. He let go of Crowley’s arm, and turned to face him. He licked his lips nervously. Putting the bread into his coat pocket, he stepped closer to Crowley, so that there wasn’t a gap between them. 

Crowley was suddenly aware of his heart pumping in his chest. He felt hot, cold, tingly with anticipation. Aziraphale was tilting his head up to meet with his. So, Crowley closed his eyes, placing a chaste, shy kiss on Aziraphale’s lips, that sang with intent. The intent of love, of want, of need. He needed this more than he’d ever needed anything before. He tasted of wine, pesto, hope. 

Aziraphale deepened the kiss, telling Crowley how badly he wanted this, him, with a slight moan that came from the back of his throat. He threw his arms around Crowley’s neck, bringing himself closer still. He could smell Crowley’s cologne, smoky and peppery, like a crackling fire on a winter’s night. He was warm, he was safe. 

After what seemed a thousand years, they broke off the kiss, so they could breathe. They remained in their embrace. Aziraphale smiled, a nervous, yet sincere smile. 

“That was perfect,” he said softly, looking up at Crowley. 

“So are you, angel,” Crowley replied, holding Aziraphale close to his chest, “You are nothing but perfect.” Aziraphale snuggled in, listening to Crowley’s heart beating, steady and sure. He sighed with happiness. 

If Crowley thought he was perfect, then he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well...
> 
> They finally did it folks. I was going to hold out on the kiss, but I simply couldn't resist! It's also the first time I've really written a 'first kiss', but it turns out that I love writing them! 
> 
> And yes, I have quoted one of my other loves, Miss Austen, with some Darcy-esque vibes...
> 
> I may be smiling like such a sappy person right now!!!!
> 
> I've also made a Tumblr for myself, find me at thesoftestofangels :)


	9. To Love and Tension...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the Morning After The Night Before. 
> 
> Crowley daydreams about the walk home post-date, and cast and crew speculate on the duo's relationship.

“You know,” Anathema said to Newt, as she bit into an apple, “I’ve never seen Anthony smile so much before.”

Newt took a sip of his coffee and nodded. Whatever was perking Crowley up, it sure was making things so much easier backstage. Nobody liked a grumpy actor at the best of times, particularly one that had a reputation for losing his temper on a regular basis. Not that you could blame an actor for being grouchy, they worked long hours tirelessly, pushed themselves to their limits, physically, emotionally and vocally. Newt could forgive Crowley’s angry outbursts when things went wrong, though these days they were few and far between each other. 

He really was in awe of them. 

Especially Anathema. The amount of times his boss Shadwell had scolded him for not paying attention during lighting changes, because he’d been transfixed by Anathema rehearsing Out Tonight was unbelievable. He felt so much envy towards Crowley whenever they rehearsed I Should Tell You. The fact that he was able to kiss her with such passion, even if it was just acting, made his stomach do somersaults. He sometimes wished that he had the ability to sing and act, just so he could take her in his arms, like Romeo, and serenade her ever so sweetly. 

“Speak of the devil, and he shalt appear,” Anathema said, breaking Newt’s spell, as Crowley walked onto stage. He looked like he’d barely slept, his hair scrapped back into a ponytail, wearing a Velvet Underground shirt with a pair of jeans, his sneakers scuffed and battered. Today his sunglasses were perched on top of his head, revealing his golden eyes. There was the smile that Anathema was telling Newt about, dreamy and joyful. He walked with a lightness to his step that was odd, but weirdly enough, suited him. He plopped himself down next to Anathema.

“Someone’s had their morning coffee,” Anathema said, raising an eyebrow.

“Nope,” Crowley replied, “Well, I’ve had a coffee,” he said, “Can’t a man just be happy?”

“Yes, he can just be happy, but that’s not usually your MO, Crowley,” Anathema said, “What could have possibly put a spring in your step? Or, should I ask, who?”

Crowley blushed. Was it really that obvious? He hadn’t told Anathema about dinner with Aziraphale, because he hadn’t been too sure about how it would turn out. It could have gone really badly, he’d had panicked visions of Aziraphale being offended, or pissed off at him, slamming the door in his face, never wanting to be in the same room as him ever again unless strictly necessary. He need not have worried, of course. 

Crowley just couldn’t get the touch of Aziraphale’s lips off of his own. After walking him home, Crowley had wandered through the Mall, the streetlights glowing warmly as he walked on air. He ended up in the bustling late-night crowds of Oxford Street, brightly lit with Christmas shop window displays.

Never before had he been so excited to see the festive decorations, not since he was a child. He normally scoffed at shops setting up for Christmas in late October, yet here he was, feeling a thrill at all the sparkling fairy lights. Was this what a kiss does to the soul? His spirit had risen as he heard the voices of excited children who had pressed their noses against a toyshop window, marvelling at the dramatic set-up. It was set to look like a mountain resort, with a toy steam train whistling long a winding track, whilst little teddy bears and dolls whizzed up and down the mountain on skates. Toy mice ice skated at the bottom of the mountain. Suddenly, he had wished that Aziraphale had been there to take in the sight. 

Wow. He’d turned into a right sap. He didn’t care, it felt good, like his heart was growing five sizes larger than it had ever been before. 

“Earth to Crowley, Earth to Crowley!” Anathema said, snapping her fingers in front of his face. He’d gone into a daydream, completely zoning out of where he was. “Go anywhere nice there?”

Crowley smiled. “Pretty nice, actually, thank you so much for asking,” he replied, earning him a light punch to the arm from Anathema. 

“Good, because I think Gabriel is coming with Bee, and both of them look like they are either out for blood, or on a mission!”

Crowley looked up to see their music director and choreographer walking into the auditorium, deep in a heated conversation. Anathema strained her ears to make out what they were saying.

“I bet they’ve gone out on a date already,” Bee was saying in a hushed whisper, “If they’ve kissed by now, you owe me £20.”

“Nonsense, I believe they are strictly professional, and Crowley’s just thrilled to be here in this production,” Gabriel retorted back, “If they are just friends, you owe me £20!”

Anathema couldn’t quite believe her hearing, and she whispered her suspicions to Newt. Whilst Crowley was standing up to stretch, Newt said guiltily “It’s true, the backstage crew have a whole sweepstake on who asked who, where they might go, who kissed who first and who, ahem, beds who first…” he went a shade of beetroot. 

“That’s rather funny, as the cast seem to have one of those too,” Anathema said, a glint of amusement in her eye, “I’m assuming that you’ve put something in that money-pot then, Newt?” 

“I might have done… I think Aziraphale kissed Crowley first, if they have in fact, kissed.”

“Nah, Crowley initiated it, for sure!”

Gabriel and Bee made it to their usual spots in front of the stage. They promptly stopped arguing and glared at Newt. 

“I, uh, have some techy stuff to do, catch you all later!” Newt said awkwardly, causing Crowley to raise an eyebrow in confusion. The crew were acting so weird lately, he thought to himself. Newt scuttled off stage, leaving Crowley, and Anathema still on stage. Eventually, the actors playing the other principle characters made their way onto stage, Jill who played Maureen, Helen who played Joanne, Robert who played Collins, Danny who played Angel and Will who played Benny. The swings and chorus dancers also came on. Today was going to be a whole run-through of the first act that had been staged already. 

There were lots of whispers on the stage. Crowley caught snippets of hushed conversation, words like ‘kiss’, ‘date’, ‘dinner’, ‘he kissed first, no he kissed first’ milling about the air. Crowley shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. He felt horribly exposed. He looked around, no sign of Aziraphale yet. Perhaps the buses were running late again. 

“Oh, goodness me, sorry I’m late,” a familiar, sweet voice said from backstage, “The line at Starbucks was horrendous!”

Aziraphale strode onto stage, clutching two takeaway cups of coffee. He walked right up to Crowley and shyly gave him a peck on the cheek. “It’s probably a bit cold now, all things considered, but it’s the thought that counts, right? Just to say thanks for walking me back home last night.”

Everyone was staring at the two of them, mouths gaping. Even members of the backstage crew had popped their heads round to see the action unfolding.

If Crowley had any doubt as to why his castmates had been acting shifty for the past week or so, he didn’t have any now. 

He took the coffee cup from Aziraphale, with a huge smile, and winked at Aziraphale, in a way that said, “Play along with me, this will be hilarious.” Aziraphale took a moment to catch on to what Crowley was insinuating and grinned right back. 

“Thank you, angel,” Crowley said dramatically, kissing Aziraphale quickly on the lips, “It shall not be as sweet as that first kiss you gave me, but it shall suffice.”

They could hear groans and mutters, a few ‘knew it’s’ and ‘I told you so’s’. Bee looked over at Gabriel and held their hand out. Gabriel rolled his eyes, but got his wallet out of his pocket, handing Bee a crisp, clean £20 note.

Newt popped his head around the stage and tapped Anathema on the shoulder. 

“I guess I could say ‘I told you so’, or I could buy you a drink with my sweepstake winnings?”

“Humph. But I won’t say no to a drink.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sweepstakes are hilarious at the best of times, and these two have been dancing around each other for WEEKS.
> 
> (I've skipped a few weeks of scenes, as I like to keep plot moving, but will likely add some of those scenes as one-shots at some point) 
> 
> I also had to Google Map the locations to make sure that Crowley would have actually walked them, because I'm not from London and have only visited it a handful of times as an adult. 
> 
> I have also discovered that I could visit St. James Park when I go to see Dear Evan Hansen in December, as it's about 20 minutes walk away from the theatre! Must remember to take some bread with me for the ducks!


	10. Find One Song, A Song About Love...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale finally hears Crowley sing One Song Glory. He thinks about the night gone by, realising something so very important.

“Take your AZT,” Aziraphale said to Crowley, before turning to face the ‘audience’ and singing, “Close on Roger, his girlfriend April left a note saying, ‘we’ve got AIDS’ before slitting her wrists in the bathroom…”

Aziraphale then walked off stage and stood to the side with the rest of the cast. The band prepared to strike up the first notes of One Song Glory. Aziraphale realised that he had held his breath. This was a song he had never heard Crowley sing, as he’d been sent off on breaks or not in when the song was being performed. 

Crowley was sat on the steel table to the right of the stage. He held the acoustic guitar, ready to play. He strummed the guitar. “I’m writing one great song before I…” He picked the notes of Your Eyes badly-on-purpose, before slamming the guitar down in anger, a grunt of rage emitted from his lips. He then picked up the little orange pill bottle that was sat next to him, looking at it, ashamed, angry.

The band struck up the opening notes to the song. 

Crowley began to sing.

“One song, glory, one song, before I go, glory, one song to leave behind…” 

Crowley picked up the guitar, got off the table and stepped out into the spotlight. His hair seemed so much brighter, his skin so much paler in the stage lights, making Aziraphale shudder at how much more attractive Crowley was all of a sudden. He looked almost occult as he continued the song. Aziraphale couldn’t stop watching, couldn’t pull himself away. He was utterly captivated, like Crowley’s voice was that of a siren, beckoning him into the depths of the cold, dark ocean. 

Crowley tossed his hair back from over his shoulder, getting into the rhythm of the guitar.

“Find, one song, one last refrain, glory, from the pretty boy front man, who wasted opportunity,” Crowley sang, adding a note of bitterness and rage into his voice, “One song, he had the world at his feet, glory, in the eyes of a young girl, a young girl.”

Crowley continued the song, his voice sounding more and more angry, “Find, glory, beyond the cheap coloured lights, one song, before the sun sets, one song, to redeem this empty life.”

Aziraphale’s breath hitched in his chest. If he had thought the man on the stage was beautiful already, then that had not been at all the truth. This man was more than anyone could describe in English, Hebrew or any other language, dead or alive. This man liked him, him, the boy who had seen so much but knew so little, he liked him back. 

When Crowley had walked him home last night, hand in hand, Aziraphale hadn’t quite believed that it was actually happening. He’d watched their breath swirl in the ice-cold air of the night, joining together before evaporating into nothingness. They’d talked about everything and nothing, on that walk home, where they grew up, their families, coming out and the consequences. Crowley had baulked when Aziraphale had admitted to his parents throwing him out when he’d come out, whilst Aziraphale had chuckled at Crowley’s rant about his parents not letting him adopt a snake when he was a teenager, that a cat simply wasn’t the same. They had compared their favourite foods, television series, books, colours. Aziraphale had told Crowley about his grandmother, who had taken him in after the whole disaster that was his coming out, Crowley had told Aziraphale about his favourite teacher, Mr. G, who had given him a love of the spoken word. They’d laughed, laughed so much. They’d also been in silence for a short part of the journey. But it was a silence that was comfortable, yet so full of expectation and promise. 

When they got back to the front door of Aziraphale’s flat, Crowley had kissed him. Unlike that first kiss, it had a bite, a hunger to it. It had fuelled something in Aziraphale that he hadn’t experienced before, something right in the bottom of his stomach that was suddenly yearning to be filled. Crowley had somehow managed to press Aziraphale’s back onto the front door itself, kissing him with a desperation of a man who needed this, a man who was drowning, a man that needed Aziraphale in order to be able to breathe. It wasn’t the kind of kiss that Aziraphale had ever expected to be on the receiving end of, but, oh, he needed it so badly. 

It had scared him, but it had also enthralled him. However, he wanted to plan out how this next step was going to go, he wanted it to be true, real, something he’d do with a partner, someone he was with long-term, and not a hook-up after a first date. He didn’t know how to navigate all this; it wasn’t something he had ever done. Crowley had been so understanding, which had been a massive relief. He’d kissed him again, on the forehead, so tender and sweet. He’d promised to let him know when he’d gotten back home. Aziraphale had wished him goodnight yet did not say all he had wanted to say. He watched Crowley walk away into the night. He regretted only slightly not letting Crowley back in but knew deep down he had done the right thing. 

It hadn’t stopped him wanting though. 

“Time flies, time dies, glory. One place of glory, one place of glory, glory!”

The anger in his voice turned into anguish, fear. Aziraphale felt his heart being ripped out of his chest. His heart broke, this was the voice of someone who had understood pain, understood suffering. Yet he was using it to fuel his song, turn it into something so brilliant, so powerful. 

“Find, glory, in a song that rings true, truth like a blazing fire, an eternal flame,” Crowley continued, singing much more softly now, “Find, one song, a song about love, glory, from the soul of a young man, a young man.”

He looked across the stage, sneakily, looking at Aziraphale. He held his breath halfway through inhaling. Crowley smiled, before going back to his song. 

Find, the one song, before the virus takes hold, Glory, like a sunset, one song, to redeem this empty life, time flies, and then, no need to endure anymore, time dies…”

The final notes to the song faded. The cast whooped and cheered. Aziraphale couldn’t help but keep staring. He felt like he’d just stared deep into Crowley’s soul. Crowley had laid himself out bare, telling him it was OK to look. It was raw. It was telling him something he hadn’t quite expected to hear. It was telling him that there was indeed more than just heated kisses and laughter swirling in the autumn air.

It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. 

A tear rolled down his cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt like it was about high time that Aziraphale listened to Crowley, and appreciated his talents. 
> 
> Also, I needed some sweet walking home moments, and a heated goodbye ;)
> 
> Thanks so much for keeping reading, all the comments and kudos are what keeps me writing!


	11. I Should Tell You, I Should Tell You, I Love You...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A phone call and a trip to the Old Crown helps move things along for our ineffable duo...
> 
> (This is a slightly angsty chapter, but after this, pure fluff and dare I say some smut will ensue!)

The two actors were in their dressing room. Now they had been in the theatre for a month, they had made their areas their home. Crowley had brought more plants from home, whilst Aziraphale had finally brought a kettle, mug with angel wings as the handle (his grandmother had gotten it for him for Chanukah one year, it was now one of his prized possessions) and teabags. Crowley had a photo of his family in a frame that was propped up against the aloe vera plant, whilst Aziraphale had tacked a picture of the cast of Hamlet from his first year of drama school onto the mirror.   
Crowley was quickly brushing his hair, so it didn’t look quite so gross, he’d overslept that morning which was why he was so dishevelled. The coffee Aziraphale had brought him had finally sunk into his system, so he felt so much more alive. It had been a whole two weeks since that first dinner, now they had a coffee rota, they got lunch out together, they kissed a couple more times. It was wonderful. He watched Aziraphale though the mirror, who was fussing with his tie. Crowley wondered what that tie would look like on the dressing room floor, before he caught himself and blushed. 

“What’s on your mind, dear?”

“Ngk,” Crowley said, whipping his hair back up into a ponytail. He’d been caught staring, red-handed. 

Aziraphale was about to say something, when his phone rang, the sound of Do Re Mi warbling from it. “Oh, sorry, better take this,” he said, as he grabbed the phone to answer the call.   
“Oh, hello Grandmamma,” Aziraphale said, “I’m at the theatre, got to go back to rehearsal in a bit, so can’t talk long…”

Crowley watched as Aziraphale smiled, almost melting into the phone. He looked so comforted, so safe. He reached out for his own coffee and took a swig. Although he couldn’t make out what was being said, he could hear that Aziraphale’s grandmother had a warm voice that was sweet, gentle and kind. Aziraphale laughed, “I can’t assume that, we’ve only been out for dinner once!”

Crowley had only been absent-mindedly listening up to that point, but suddenly coughed on his coffee. Aziraphale wasn’t paying him any mind, however. He had suddenly begun blushing, rolling his eyes into the phone. “He isn’t my boyfriend, Grandmamma, he isn’t. Of course, I like him… I don’t have to divulge that information to you… Fine, we have kissed, nothing more, I’m still a pure, good boy… Hey!” he exclaimed, turning scarlet, “You can’t say things like that, what if he hears you?”

Crowley grinned a shit-eating grin. No, he couldn’t hear what she was saying, but based on Aziraphale’s responses, he could gather what she was implying. Aziraphale noticed Crowley, cringing. “Hang on,” he said into the phone, before turning to Crowley, hand over the phone, “I don’t know what you heard, but I am so sorry!”

Crowley’s grin grew so much bigger. How could he resist Aziraphale, especially when he was so flustered? He put down his mug, got up from his chair and grabbed Aziraphale, bringing him in for a deep kiss. Despite a moment of flapping and surprise, Aziraphale kissed Crowley back, with a considerable amount of heat behind it. “I suppose I’ll leave you and your gran in peace to argue that one out, Angel. Still coming to the Old Crown later?”

Aziraphale sighed. “Of course, but you’re buying the first round.”

“Obviously! Chou!” 

Crowley walked out of the room, blowing Aziraphale a kiss, pretending to ignore the faux glare that Aziraphale was shooting at his back. He thought he could hear the tinny, warm laughter of an older woman through a phone as he walked away.

*****

The trips to the Old Crown had started after one particularly horrid rehearsal of La Vie Boheme had turned into a slinging match between Gabriel and Bee, who that week had decided that they were going to completely disagree with whatever the other had decided to do. It had meant that the whole number had been reblocked at least six times that afternoon and the whole cast were pissed at the whole mess. At one point, Crowley had had to go up to the two directors to physically break them up from a near-first fight. It had been really scary, so when Danny had sweetly suggested that they took the rest of the day off and go to the first pub they came across to get pleasantly drunk, the cast had all been in full agreement. Gabriel and Bee were still screaming at each other as the cast shrugged, walked off stage, dragging Newt along with them, off to the first pub they came across, which had happened to be The Old Crown. 

After that, it had become a weekly tradition for Anathema, Newt, Aziraphale, Danny, Crowley, Jill, Helen, Robert and Will to visit the Old Crown on a Wednesday evening after rehearsals, to chat about how things were going and generally socialise about things other than the theatre. 

Everyone got their drinks in, piling around the only large table in the pub. Although everyone was chattering, there was a slight hush about the group as Aziraphale took a seat next to Crowley, who put his arm around his shoulders, a blatant display of affection that none of the rest of the cast could ever assume that Crowley could be capable of. 

“And the lamb has tamed the lion,” Anathema said to Newt, “I’m glad, he needed cheering up.”

Newt took a sip of his lager, nodding in agreement, “Aziraphale seems happier too, much calmer. He bumped into me backstage today, and only said sorry once!”

Anathema raised an eyebrow, “Only once? That must mean he’s finally mellowing out, or he’s had some nice, ball-slapping sex and it’s calmed him right down!”  
Newt blushed, choking on his drink. Anathema laughed, slapping Newt on the back. 

“Don’t kill the poor bugger, for Satan’s sake,” Crowley said, “What on earth did you say to him to nearly murder him?”

“Oh,” Anathema replied sweetly, “I had simply wondered whether Zira is now simply calmer in general, or whether you’d finally had sex and it’s mellowed him out?”

Aziraphale choked on his wine, causing Crowley to have to back-slap him. 

“Ah,” Anathema said, “I stand very much corrected.”

“We only went out for dinner the other day,” Aziraphale said, “And kissed a couple of times. That’s all I’m willing to discuss on the subject, as I had to explain to my beloved grandmother only a few hours ago.”

“I see,” Anathema said, delicately sipping her ale, a sly smile on her lips, “Perhaps you shouldn’t be discussing, but, doing, as it were.”

Crowley noticed Aziraphale shifting uncomfortably in his seat, looking down at the floor. His heart broke, as Aziraphale suddenly looked so small and sad. 

“Knock it off, Ana,” Crowley said quietly, “Not everyone is as open as you are about that sort of thing. Some people like to be private about these matters.”

Aziraphale suddenly got up. “I think I need some air,” he said, a waver of upset in his voice, like he was holding back tears. He then walked quickly out of the pub. 

Crowley glared at Anathema, before excusing himself and also leaving.

****

“Angel, where are you?” 

Crowley had broken into a run, desperately running down the street, dodging drunk clubbers on the pavement, looking deep into all the crowds in order to see if he could find Aziraphale. He could feel panic rising in his chest. What if in his emotional state, Aziraphale got lost, or injured, or mugged or worse…

“Where are you Angel?”

He stopped running, leaning against the wall of a nightclub, catching his breath. He then could hear the faint sound of sobbing coming from down the side of the building. 

“Angel?”

Crowley walked down the side of the building. He say Aziraphale, his back leaned against the wall, face in his hands, his body wracked with deep, heavy sobs. Crowley’s heart shattered; he ran up to Aziraphale. “Hey, Angel, it’s me, Crowley,” he said, blinking back his own tears, “May I hold you a moment? Please?”

Aziraphale nodded, so Crowley pulled him into a hug, crushing him so close to his chest. Oh, God, Crowley thought, he’s shaking. They sunk to the floor together, not caring about all the cigarette butts littering the place. 

Aziraphale looked up at Crowley, his eyes full of tears. “I want so much, so much,” he said, his voice thick with sadness, “I’m so scared about it.”

“Oh, Angel,” Crowley replied, stroking Aziraphale’s hair, “You know I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do, right?”

“That’s not the point, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, “I just want it to mean something. I know you usually don’t let it mean anything, but I need it to…”

Crowley’s breath hitched. “Where did you hear that?” he asked. 

****

Earlier that afternoon, Aziraphale had gone to grab coffee. He’d gotten back to the stage door, where Danny was out having a cigarette. 

“So, you and Crowley, huh?” he said, blowing a ring of smoke from his lips. 

“Well, we’ve been out for dinner, we kissed, there’s all there is to it,” Aziraphale replied.

“Shame Crowley isn’t exactly boyfriend material.”

“What could you mean by that? He isn’t my boyfriend. Not yet.”

“Ah, the ‘not yet’. Aziraphale, you don’t seem to be the type to hook up during a show and then call it a day after the final curtain call,” Danny said, finishing is cigarette, flicking the butt into the street, “However, Crowley… Let’s just say that he’s got ex-flings working in every single theatre in this city. Don’t let him make you another notch on his bedpost. Just a warning, you’re a good kid.”

Danny walked casually into the theatre. Aziraphale was frozen to the spot, staring. He dropped his coffee on the ground, spilling it everywhere. He felt cold, so cold. 

Had he really been so easily fooled?

***

“Oh, Angel…”

Crowley realised why Aziraphale had been so upset. What if he thought that everything that Crowley had said and done up to this point was nothing but a huge lie, just to trick him into bed? 

Yes, he’d been fun and fancy free throughout his time in drama school. Yes, he’d gained quite the reputation, one he’d thought he was proud of. 

But now? 

He had never felt so ashamed in all his life. 

“I don’t deserve you, Angel,” Crowley said, tears rolling down his cheeks. He ignored them, “You are so good, so wonderful. I do want you, I need you, like I’ve never needed anyone before. I should tell you, that I love you…”

Aziraphale looked back up at Crowley, shocked. He gently pushed Crowley away slightly, so that they were looking at each other, eye to eye. 

“Aziraphale, I want us to mean so, so much,” Crowley said, “Even when you are scared and doubt yourself, even when your gran says embarrassing things to you on the phone. I want us to mean the world, no, the universe. Yes, I’ve played in the past, but all this, this is so new to me. I know this has only been a thing for a short period of time, things are happening so fast, but these two weeks have been the best in my life. I’m terrified, because I’ve not done this before, but I want this with you, if you’ll have me.”

Aziraphale leaned in, his forehead touching Crowley’s. 

“If you’ll have me, then I am yours,” he said, “I love you. I want you. I desire you more than anything. I haven’t done this either, in any way. I guess we’ll have to teach each other.”

Crowley laughed a watery laugh. Aziraphale wiped Crowley’s tears away, before kissing him, ever so tenderly. 

“Shall we go home, Angel?”

“I’d like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PHEW!
> 
> I've had a few days off writing as it was my birthday last week (day before Halloween, holla!) so spent a few days celebrating!
> 
> I hate writing angst, but this needed doing. Aziraphale has never slept with anyone, and won't be with someone who doesn't have actual feelings for him (I am the same, I can't do no-strings-attached stuff, I tried after me and my ex broke up, but it's not my scene.). 
> 
> I hope this means that our boys have sorted out their shit! I only want fluff and smut from this point, I may have to change the rating of the fic!


	12. I Have Always Loved You, You Can See It In My Eyes...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale revels in his new relationship with Crowley, with a gift so simple, yet so perfect. Crowley, meanwhile has a couple of ways of thanking his angel...

Aziraphale felt on top of the world. 

Someone loved him back. 

He walked to the theatre; his head held high. He didn’t feel anything other than brave now. Someone loved him and it felt so good. The leaves crunched under his feet as he walked forward. Aziraphale noticed all the different shades of brown, red and orange that were in the leaves on the trees. It was nearly Halloween, pumpkins sat outside people’s houses, spooky displays in a couple of the cafes’ windows near the theatre. A couple of schoolchildren ran past Aziraphale, giggling about costumes whilst clutching bright, shining conkers attached by strings. A young teenage couple walked past, hand in hand, clutching takeaway cups with the scent of pumpkin spice that caught on the morning breeze. 

As he walked, Aziraphale sung softly under his breath, "shoo fly, don't bother me, shoo fly, don't bother me, shoo fly, don't bother me, I belong to somebody..." The leaves under his feet crunched in time to the beat of the song, sweet and innocent, as Aziraphale continued, "I feel, I feel, I feel like a morning star, I feel, I feel, I feel like a morning star..."He wasn't lying, he really did feel like a star, shimmering in the cosmos, brighter and bigger than all the rest of them. He belonged to somebody, somebody who loved him, was in love with him. Out of all the people in the world, somebody had chosen him. He continued his little childish song with a giggle on his lips, as he walked down the street. 

A particularly bright scarlet leaf came off one of the trees and floated towards him. Aziraphale had the sudden compulsion to catch it from the breeze. He kept walking, turning the leaf front to back to admire it. Somehow it made him think of Crowley, his red hair, especially when he left it pouring down his back. He imagined running his fingers through Crowley’s hair, maybe tugging at it slightly whilst he kissed him, scorching hot as… 

Woah. Aziraphale felt rather warm and not because he’d had a mocha before he’d left for work that morning. Despite himself, Aziraphale smiled, keeping hold of the leaf. Perhaps he’d give it to Crowley. Yes, that would be an idea. He hadn’t given Crowley a gift before. It may not be a beautiful bouquet of flowers, but perhaps he would like it anyway. 

Aziraphale arrived at the stage door, nodded curtly to Daniel who was having a cigarette. He would probably forgive Daniel in time, but not quite yet. Aziraphale walked inside the theatre, heading to the dressing room that he and Crowley shared. 

As he walked in, he saw Crowley, watering his aloe vera. And shouting at it. 

“You need to GROW BETTER!” Crowley yelled, spritzing the plant, “You can’t go all diva on me because you fell out of a pot a few weeks ago. I think that new pot has given you ideas…”

“Uh, Crowley?”

Crowley jumped six foot into the air. “You can’t just sneak up on me like that!”

“I heard about your ‘pep talks’,” Aziraphale said, chuckling, “but never quite expected you to scream bloody murder!”

Crowley blushed; he’d never been caught in the act of plant-threatening before. Being caught by his boyfriend (no, he still couldn’t quite get his head around that fact either), was that slightly bit worse. Especially because Aziraphale was now having a very good-natured laugh about it. 

“I think it’s really sweet,” Aziraphale said, “It shows just how much you care.” He stepped forward, and pecked Crowley on the cheek, “Though I must insist on you refraining from such activities whilst I’m around, I’d rather like to keep my hearing intact…”

Crowley put down the plant mister, a smirk forming on his face. He grabbed Aziraphale, holding him close. He gave Aziraphale’s ear a little nip, which caused Aziraphale to squeak with surprise. “I’ll try my best to ensure you don’t go deaf,” Crowley whispered in Aziraphale’s ear. Now it was Aziraphale turning a rather delicious shade of pink, which delighted Crowley. 

“Wait, um, I actually came in here with a purpose,” Aziraphale said, a splutter in his voice. 

Crowley grinned, realising that somehow he’d managed to back Aziraphale into his dressing table. He edged closer, causing Aziraphale to perch on the tabletop, his feet off the ground and dangling awkwardly. “And, pray tell, Angel, what was your purpose in coming in here on this fine October morning?”

Aziraphale brought out the leaf that he had found that morning. In the lights on the dressing table mirror, it looked like it was on fire. Crowley stared at it; his breath taken away. It was so beautiful. It still smelled fresh and new, like a morning that had just begun. 

“I realised that I hadn’t gotten you something yet, it’s no bouquet with a secret message, but it made me think of you as it danced in the wind this morning, so I brought it for you,” Aziraphale said, “I know it’s very silly, and strange, but I couldn’t resist…”

Crowley gently took the leaf out of Aziraphale’s hand. Reverently, he brought it to his lips, kissing it very gently. He then wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s neck, kissing him ever so softly and sweetly. Aziraphale pulled Crowley closer, kissing him back warmly, groaning slightly into the kiss. “Angel, its perfect,” Crowley said, once they reluctantly pulled away, “I shall treasure it always.”  
Crowley then noticed the time on the clock on the dressing room wall. “Ah. We’re due on stage in five minutes,” he said, pulling away from Aziraphale’s embrace sadly. Carefully, he went into the drawer of his dressing table, and pulled out some blue tack. He rolled a little bit into a ball, using it to attach the leaf to his mirror by the stalk. “Now I’ll see this leaf every time I’m in front of the mirror and be reminded of just how perfect my angel is,” Crowley said, giving Aziraphale another gentle kiss on the lips.

Aziraphale looked at the leaf. It really was perfect.

***

Crowley was huddled on the table that Anathema was lying on. Aziraphale, Robert, Helen and Jill were surrounding the table, looking suitably worried.

“I should tell you, I love you,” Anathema sang weakly, before going limp. 

“Who do you think you are, leaving me alone with my guitar?” Crowley sang, “Hold on, there’s something you should hear, it isn’t much, but it took all year…”  
Crowley grabbed his guitar, that had been leaning against the table, and picked the opening notes to Your Eyes. 

Aziraphale gulped. This had always been a song that had broken his heart when watching the show or listening to the soundtrack. He had heard Crowley sing through the number before, back when they did the first sing-through of the show a month ago. Things had been so different then. 

“Your eyes – as we said our goodbyes,” Crowley sang, as he played softly, “Can’t get them out of my mind, and I find I can’t hide from your eyes, the ones that took me by surprise, the night you came into my life, where there’s moonlight, I see your eyes.”

Crowley snuck a look up at Aziraphale, as if to say, ‘I’m singing this for you.’ Aziraphale looked at him, letting his eyes smile at him, glossy with emotion, despite the stoic look on his face for the role he was playing on stage. 

“How’d I let you slip away, when I’m longing so, to hold you, now I’d die for one more day, ‘cause there is something I should have told you, yes there’s something I should have told you, when I looked into your eyes,” Crowley continued, turning back to Anathema, who opened her eyes and winked at Crowley, before letting her face go ‘limp’ so she could face Aziraphale and give him an encouraging smile before going back into character. Aziraphale playfully rolled his eyes at her, before focusing back on Crowley. 

“Why does distance make us wise? You were the song all along and before the song dies, I should tell you, I should tell you,” Crowley crooned, looking back up at Aziraphale, “I have always loved you, you can see it in my eyes…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After the sadness of the last chapter (even though it turned out well for them in the end), I needed ALL THE FLUFF! (and some hints at the smut to come ;) ) 
> 
> Like Aziraphale, I adore autumn, not just because it's my birthday season, but because it's a weirdly happy one, despite the fact that things are coming to an end. I love pumpkin spice lattes (I may be bisexual, but I'm still a basic white girl!), playing conkers, brightly coloured leaves and Halloween displays on the shops. I kick leaves about and collect conkers, before going home to enjoy hot chocolate (in the Aziraphale mug I got for my birthday this year!!!)
> 
> Also, the little song Aziraphale sings was one I was taught when I was in Brownies, so I would have been about eight or nine. My Pack was based in a Methodist church and I think the song was meant to be about 'belonging to God', but I recon Aziraphale was taught it to be about being in love, which is how I myself have reinterpreted it as an adult. I sing it when I'm in a particularly good mood with my boyfriend, or at least hum it sometimes when we're walking down the street hand in hand. 
> 
> And, before you ask, yes, I was Aziraphale this Halloween, as well as for my rather late birthday party that I'm hosting next week, with a Heaven and Hell theme. I'm still trying to persuade my ever-suffering boyfriend to be my Crowley, though deep down I think he'd suit Newt Pulsifer so much more!


	13. Take Me, I Love You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale plays Cards Against Humanity at a Halloween party, and finally feels ready to take the plunge with Crowley...
> 
> TW: The 'Auschwitz' white card gets played on Aziraphale, during the Cards Against Humanity game, who is Jewish.

Aziraphale awkwardly fiddled with the wire halo balancing precariously on his curls. 

“Quit fussing, Angel, you look divine!”

Crowley was leaning, back against the dressing room door frame, wearing a black shirt that was open necked, leather trousers that clung to his legs and hugged his body in just the right places. A long, black cloak with a satin red lining was draped effortlessly on his shoulders. His snakeskin boots and red horns completed the look. It had been his idea to play on the whole ‘angel-demon’ vibe that everyone thought the two of them had going.

Aziraphale couldn’t stop gawking at the man he was lucky enough to be able to call his. This was going to be the first time that the two of them had gone out socially with the rest of the cast, as an official couple. 

He wasn’t going to lie, the thought of it thrilled and terrified Aziraphale all at the same time. There had been the initial tiptoeing around him and Crowley after the Old Crown incident, with the rest of the cast either being too-nice or avoiding them completely. Anathema, however, had decided to heal the breech, leaving a small bunch of white tulips and delicate snapdragons in front of Crowley and Aziraphale’s dressing room. When Crowley had seen them, he had chuckled. Clearly Anathema had been reading up on floriography herself and felt this was the best way to apologise to them. Aziraphale himself had picked them up, admiring the simplicity of the arrangement, stroking the petals of the tulips with tender care that had made Crowley’s heart swell. 

Both of them were glad that everything settled down a week after the whole sorry business had taken place. 

Aziraphale straightened the white waistcoat he was wearing over a white long-sleeved shirt, a silver bowtie completing the look. He took one more look at himself in the mirror. Perhaps he did suit white trousers after-all, he thought to himself as he walked up to Crowley, pecking him chastely on the cheek. “I have to say you are looking rather tempting yourself tonight, my dear,” Aziraphale said, with a smile that wasn’t particularly angelic. 

Crowley’s face reddened very slightly, being complimented so saucily by a handsome angel might have that effect on a man. He offered Aziraphale his arm, which he took, pressing close to Crowley’s side. Aziraphale always felt so warm, Crowley thought to himself as they walked out of the theatre and into the night. 

As they walked, they watched as children ran down the streets in various fancy-dress costumes, shrieking with laughter, parents behind them chattering whilst clutching flasks of hot drinks. Some houses they walked past were pumping out loud music, teenagers in various levels of indecent costumes lolling about in doorways and walls. A couple of houses had toilet paper and silly-string covering them, blatantly refusing to take part in the Halloween celebrations, which some of the youths of the area had taken some offense to. 

Anathema had always thrown a Halloween party every year, especially when they were in drama school. The yearly event was an excuse to forget all about work, dance, drink and sing karaoke extremely badly on purpose. Crowley had always looked forward to it, as it was the chance to be the debauched young rake that he was known to be, for some reason Halloween made people so much freer, so much looser, more game to tumble into bed and be gone before the crack of dawn. This year was different, this year he had an angel on his arm. 

They walked down the path in Anathema’s front garden, that was littered with carved pumpkins and candles flickering in the darkness. Crowley knocked on the door, which swung wide open to reveal Anathema in a deep green medieval dress, a witch’s hat worn cocked to the side in a jaunty manner. 

“Crowley! Aziraphale!” she exclaimed, grabbing both of them into a tight hug. Aziraphale wheezed at the shock of the sudden embrace, patting her on the back gently as a way of acknowledging the action taking place. The three removed themselves from the hug. “I’m so glad you both could make it! Come on in, grab a drink and mingle!” she said, ushering Crowley and Aziraphale inside, “I need to sort out the nibbles!”

The party was very much in full swing. Crowley looked at Aziraphale, who was looking rather anxious all of a sudden. He had confessed a few days before that he had never attended a party like this before, he didn’t really get on with loud and crowded places. Crowley gave Aziraphale’s hand a reassuring squeeze, “We can stay for as long or as short as you like, Angel,” Crowley said, “I won’t make you stay somewhere you’re not comfortable, I promise.”

Aziraphale squeezed Crowley’s hand back, three times, whilst taking a deep breath to steady his nerves. He looked up at Crowley, with a nervous smile. “I trust you,” he said. 

They walked into the room together, still hand in hand. Everyone they knew from the cast was in the room. Newt, Shadwell and Robert were playing poker in one corner of the room, whilst Jill, Helen and Will were yelling along to The Final Countdown on the karaoke mike. A few other members of the backstage crew were arguing about whether to persuade the group to play a game of Cards Against Humanity or whether it was at the right point of the evening to start a round of Ring of Fire. 

There were two men on the sofa that Aziraphale only vaguely recognised from group rehearsals, as they tended to be in the ensemble cast most of the time but would occasionally sit in rehearsals where he and Crowley were present, as they were their understudies for their respective roles. Crowley spotted a gap in the sofa and led Aziraphale to it. They fell onto it with a sigh, the walk from the theatre to the party had been quite a long one, and it was rather nice to finally sit down for a moment and take everything in. 

“Ah, Aziraphale,” the taller, blonde man, who was dressed as Kermit the Frog said, “Nice to see that you’ve decided to come in the end!”

Aziraphale put on his best smile, and replied, “Yes, I couldn’t possibly refuse an invitation from Anathema of all people.”

“No, it’s not always in your best interest to turn down one of her invitations,” the other man said, sticking out his hand for Aziraphale to shake, “I’m Hastur,” he said, “I’m also Mark, but only once or twice a week.”

Aziraphale took Hastur’s hand, and gave it a firm shake, “Yes, I’m so grateful for it too!” he said warmly, “I couldn’t have accepted the role if you were not so understanding,” he added. 

Hastur smiled, “I’m probably the luckiest swing ever, as I’ll get more regular stage time than others do, so it is I that should be grateful to you, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale blushed, as his halo slipped once again from his curls. Hastur helped Aziraphale readjust it, handing him an extra bobby-pin. The other man, who was dressed as a salamander, cleared his throat, and Hastur and Aziraphale looked over at him. “I hope that boyfriend of yours has gone to grab at least you a drink,” the shorter man said, “You can’t be at a party and not have a red cup in your hand!” He reached over to also shake Aziraphale’s hand, “I’m Ligur, I’m your chap’s understudy. Unlike Hastur, I don’t get quite as many opportunities to strut my stuff.”

Aziraphale was about to say how much he looked forward to hearing Ligur perform, when Crowley (who he hadn’t noticed getting up to go off to the ‘bar’) came back, clutching two large red solo cups. He handed one to Aziraphale, giving him a quick kiss on the lips before sitting himself back down, draping his arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders. He took a swig from his own cup and pulled a face. 

Hastur snuggled up to Ligur slightly, whilst Aziraphale took a delicate sip from his own cup. Whatever it was in there tasted very strong, sharp and sweet and bitter all at the same time. There seemed to be a hint of cranberry and maybe vodka. He wrinkled his nose as he took another sip, to give whatever it was in the cup another chance. Crowley chuckled at Aziraphale’s reaction. “I think Anathema’s Halloween Punch is a rather acquired taste, I’m afraid,” he said, as he drained the rest of his cup, “I believe it’s made for downing rather than sipping, angel of mine.”

Aziraphale took Crowley’s advice, glugging down the contents of his cup down in just a few seconds. It wasn’t so awful when drunk like that, he thought. Until the alcohol content smacked him between the eyes. Gosh, it was rather potent, he thought further, perhaps I won’t have any more tonight. When Crowley verbally agreed with him, he realised he had spoken his thoughts out loud. He cringed, whilst Hastur and Ligur chuckled gently at him. Ligur then got up, heading over towards where everyone else was now preparing to start playing Cards Against Humanity. 

“You played before, Aziraphale?” Hastur asked. 

“I can’t say that I have played Cards Against Humanity,” Aziraphale said, “It must of missed my radar at drama school,” he added. 

“Well, I know what we’re doing now,” Hastur said, “Crowley, we need to take your angel to lose his Cards Against Humanity virginity,” he grabbed Aziraphale by the arm, causing him to squeal in surprise, pulling him over to the main group, that was dishing out the cards needed. Crowley shrugged, and slotted himself between Aziraphale and Anathema. 

“Guys, it’s going to be good,” Hastur said, “We have a Virgin playing with us tonight!”

“I think they mean a Cards Against Humanity Virgin,” Crowley whispered into Aziraphale’s ear, “Rather than an actual virgin, I don’t think they are making assumptions about you.”

“Alright everyone,” Daniel said, shuffling a pile of black cards, “Take ten white cards each, keep them to yourselves. Aziraphale, these cards are answers to black cards. You want to be as awful as possible in order to win.”

Aziraphale grabbed ten cards from one of the piles of white cards, reading cards such as ‘Madeline McCanne’ and ‘The Homosexual Agenda’ and feeling quite surprised by them. 

Everyone had a quick look, smirk and giggle about their hands, before Daniel then said, “When did everyone last take a shit then?”

Everyone started to debate right down to the minute. In the end, it was deemed that it was Aziraphale who was to be the first Card Czar. 

“So, you take a black card, read it out. We then put down our answer. You then read out the answers. The one you find the funniest or most awful is the one that wins the point. The winner is the most awful person with the most points,” Daniel said. 

“Alright,” Aziraphale said, taking a black card from the top of the pack. “What’s that smell?” he read.

Everyone started to look at their hands, some raising eyebrows, some sniggering. After a moment, people started to slam their choices on the table. 

“So, I need to shuffle these and then read them out?” Aziraphale asked. 

“Yep, it’s just that simple,” Anathema said. 

“Right then,” Aziraphale said, picking out the first white card., “What’s that smell? Whales,” he read, that one was fairly tame to start, “A middle-aged man on roller-skates. Smegma? What’s that?”

“Ah, you’re too gay to know about that,” Anathema said. 

“I see…” Aziraphale said, shrugging. He then took another card. He read it. He looked at the black card, and then this card again. He then creased up with laughter. He laughed, and laughed, doubling over as he was laughing so hard that his sides were hurting. 

Crowley took the white card from Aziraphale, who was in no fit state to read it out. 

“Uh, who played the ‘Auschwitz ‘card on the Jewish cast-mate?” Crowley asked. Everyone then also joined in with the laughter. 

“I think that one wins,” Aziraphale said, trying to breath in between peals of laughter, “Who did it, own up!”

Newt raised his hand awkwardly. Everyone did a dramatic gasp and lobbed the black card at him. 

Aziraphale realised that house parties were not quite as awful as he originally thought. 

****

“That was actually good fun tonight,” Aziraphale said, as he and Crowley walked back to Aziraphale’s flat. 

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,” Crowley said, “It’s also nice not being too drunk either,” he added, clutching Aziraphale closer to him, enjoying being able to smell the deep floral scent on his curls. The halo was still attached to Aziraphale’s head, the bobby pin that Hastur had leant Aziraphale was clearly doing its job well. This year was a year that Crowley had decided to not have too much punch, as he actually cared about what was going to happen at the end of his night, before it was a way to blind his way so he didn’t feel bad about it the next day. Aziraphale really was reforming him, whether he realised it or not. 

Maybe tonight might finally be that night. they’d been getting closer and closer to it, Crowley never pushing, but getting so close before something was to happen and circumstances making sure it wasn’t going to happen. Perhaps it was whilst they were stealing a private moment in between rehearsals before they were called back on stage, or they were dropping the other off from a date, that they’d be getting towards that stage, but it just wasn’t right. It needed to be right. 

Crowley hoped that tonight would indeed be that right time. 

Unknown to him, so did Aziraphale. 

It was time to be truly brave, take what he wanted, what he needed. 

They were walking in comfortable silence, right up to when they got to Aziraphale’s door. They kissed softly. 

“Well, I guess I’ll see you later,” Crowley said, turning to go. 

But Aziraphale grabbed his arm, pulling him back close. He kissed him, trying desperately to communicate what he wanted without words. Crowley grunted with surprise as he melted into Aziraphale’s kiss. 

“Oh?” he said. 

“Oh, indeed, dear boy,” Aziraphale said, a wicked grin on his face that was positively sinful. 

There was a low growl that came from the bottom of Crowley’s throat. He grabbed Aziraphale, bringing him further close, kissing him with all the heat he had been keeping back. He realised after a moment that he had slammed Aziraphale’s back to the door, when Aziraphale made a slightly surprised, but pleased noise that pressed against his lips. they continued heatedly kissing each other, before Aziraphale broke them apart, panting with want. 

He managed to unlock the door, quickly kiss the mezuzah on the door, before pulling Crowley inside of his flat with yet another firey kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry I haven't updated as quickly as usual! 
> 
> My plan was to get through Remembrance Sunday (As a Scout Leader I have to march with the Scouts and make sure that all goes alright). I then found out that my grandfather passed away earlier that morning, so have spent the past couple of days getting my head around the loss, so didn't feel up to writing. 
> 
> In regards to the CAH sequence, I was in my third year at university, and had a Jewish housemate. We decided one night to have a game of Cards Against Humanity (It came out during my first year of university back in 2013, and then stayed fairly popular during the four years I was studying), and something very similar happened when we brought out the game with him around. We also celebrated Hanukkah that year, as he brought a menorah and dreidel so we played the game associated with the holiday, whilst tipsy and very competitive!
> 
> I'm so grateful for every kudos and comment I get on this fic. It's what is getting me back into the habit of reguarly writing, and I appreciate every word that is said. I love you all so freaking much!


	14. Trusting Desire - Starting To Learn...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now is the Right Time. 
> 
> (Or, these two love birds finally get it on!) 
> 
> I'm going to have to change the rating of this fic now.... *fans self as she is hot under the collar...*

The door slammed hard behind them. Neither of them paid it any mind, kissing each other hard, pawing at the other’s clothes in a clumsy manner. Crowley somehow managed to carefully remove the halo from Aziraphale’s hair, tossing it unceremoniously to one side, along with the devil horns. They managed to shuck their shoes off, leaving them on the ground as Crowley undid Aziraphale’s bowtie and Aziraphale unbuttoned what was remaining of Crowley’s shirt. Not a lot was being said, other than the odd gasp from Aziraphale, or a groan from Crowley.

Aziraphale gasped as Crowley once again slammed Aziraphale against a wall, hard enough to be a clear response, but not so that he’d be hurt by the action. Crowley licked his lips, watching Aziraphale catching his breath his face flushed, eyes shining with desire. Crowley couldn’t resist gently unbuttoning a couple of Aziraphale’s shirt buttons, before burying his face into the crook of Aziraphale’s neck, which caused Aziraphale to moan softly. Crowley kept Aziraphale pinned against the door, as he continued to kiss Aziraphale’s neck, all whilst helping him to shuck off his waistcoat, then unbuttoning the rest of the shirt Aziraphale was wearing. The waistcoat fell into a crumpled heap on the ground. Aziraphale couldn’t bear to not remove Crowley’s shirt, pushing it off of his shoulders so that it joined the waistcoat on the floor. 

Crowley used this new reveal of Aziraphale’s skin very much to his advantage, kissing down his chest, stroking Aziraphale’s nipples, smiling as they hardened to his touch. Aziraphale’s breath hitched, surprised at the sensation, creating a pressure in his trousers that was starting to grow uncomfortable. Why he had chosen trousers that were tighter than usual, he didn’t know. He felt himself straining against clothing, as he grew harder. Crowley then kissed and suckled gently at Aziraphale’s nipples, which caused a keening cry to come from the younger man. 

“Please… I can’t…”

“You can’t what?” Crowley said, pausing what he was doing, looking back up at Aziraphale. Had he gone too far? 

“This teasing… I need… you…” Aziraphale panted. 

Phew, Crowley thought. He’d been worried for a moment that he was going too fast for Aziraphale.

“I think it might be better not to do this on your doorstep, Angel,” Crowley said, his voice thick with lust, “Show me the way?”

Aziraphale smirked, and grabbed Crowley’s hand, pulling him towards his bedroom door. He opened it, flicking on a light. 

Aziraphale’s bedroom was small, but cosy. There was a wardrobe in one corner, with a wash basket full of laundry sat next to it. A chest of drawers was backed into the back wall, with a mirror and various trinkets sat on top of it. The bed was situated in the middle of the room, with a bedside table next to the right hand side, a good sized one that would almost certainly fit two people comfortably. 

A bed that was looking to be rather inviting right at that moment. 

Crowley pulled at Aziraphale’s shirt, bringing him closer, kissing him ever so tenderly. Aziraphale looped his arms around Crowley’s neck, kissing him back in earnest. Crowley then let go of Aziraphale momentarily, before scooping him up in his arms, then placing him down on the bed softly. If they were going to do this, it needed to be right. Sometimes he forgot that Aziraphale hadn’t done any of this before. The first time ought to be special, it was the least his angel deserved. 

“Scooch up a little bit, Angel,” Crowley said gently, “Need some room to work.”

Aziraphale was laid back on the bed, his undone shirt open and revealing his chest and stomach. He blushed, looking away from Crowley shyly. Crowley nuzzled into Aziraphale’s neck, kissing him on the cheek gently. “You still OK?” he asked. 

“It’s just… I still can’t quite believe that you’ve chosen me, with my body…”

Crowley took this opportunity to straddle Aziraphale and kiss him hard on the lips. “You…” Crowley said, then kissing back down Aziraphale’s neck, “Are fucking beautiful,” he started to kiss down Aziraphale’s chest, light, gentle kisses that made Aziraphale want to cry at the beauty of the moment, “I couldn’t choose anyone else,” he said, before blowing a quick raspberry on Aziraphale’s stomach, making Aziraphale laugh at the ticklish sensation, putting him at ease. Crowley squeezed Aziraphale’s hand, before going back to kissing lower and lower down, until he got to Aziraphale’s crotch. 

“I think you’re a bit overdressed right now, my Angel,” Crowley said, with a low rumbling growl, “Let’s deal with that…”

Crowley made light work of Aziraphale’s fly, pulling the trousers off of Aziraphale’s body. Aziraphale sighed with relief, as his erection finally wasn’t so constricted anymore. Gently, Crowley kissed Aziraphale’s thigh, then pulled down Aziraphale’s boxer shorts. Taking a moment to admire Aziraphale in his naked glory, Crowley then kissed the tip of Aziraphale’s cock, before taking it into his mouth. 

“Oh… Oh my… Please… Don’t stop…”

Crowley found one of Aziraphale’s hands, holding onto it in order to keep himself anchored onto the bed, as well to reassure Aziraphale that everything was alright. He carried on working Aziraphale’s cock in his mouth, enjoying the sounds that were coming from Aziraphale.

“I need…”

Crowley looked up at Aziraphale. “What do you need, angel of mine?”

“You… Just you… I want and need you inside me.”

Crowley came back up to be properly face to face with Aziraphale again, kissing him tenderly. “Do you have any condoms and lube?” he asked. 

Aziraphale grinned and rolled over slightly to get to the bedside table, rummaging through it. He then threw a box of condoms and a bottle of lube at Crowley. 

Crowley finally shucked off his jeans and boxers. Aziraphale gasped at Crowley’s naked form. He was gorgeous, to the point where it took his breath away. He sat up, reaching out for Crowley, who rejoined him on the bed. Crowley gently removed Aziraphale’s shirt, letting it fall down the side of the bed. They kissed, firmly yet shyly, Crowley relaxing Aziraphale as much as possible. He then squirted some lube onto his fingers, looking at Aziraphale. He was panting, his face and chest flushed with desire. 

“You ready?” Crowley asked. 

Aziraphale nodded. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” he replied. 

Crowley rolled Aziraphale gently onto his side, so that the two of them were almost spooning. Then, carefully, he started to stroke Aziraphale’s asshole with one finger, whilst caressing his ass cheeks with the other hand. He felt Aziraphale shudder under his touch, which thrilled him. “So responsive,” Crowley murmured, as he gently inserted a finger into Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale gasped out at this new sensation. The lube was cold to the touch, but it soon warmed up. The initial shock of having something somewhere he was unaccustomed to turned into something quite pleasurable. Sensing Aziraphale relaxing, Crowley then put another finger in, carefully opening Aziraphale up. Aziraphale pushed himself into the touch, especially when Crowley found a particularly sweet spot, stroking it with a finger. 

“That’s it, angel,” Crowley said gently, “Let it take over…” He added a third finger, stretching Aziraphale. “You’re so good, you know that?” Crowley continued, rolling Aziraphale back onto his back, caressing his cheek, “You’re already so good for me, so open and willing for me.”

Aziraphale pulled Crowley closer to him, wrapping his arms around Crowley’s neck once again. He pulled him in for a deep kiss, making Crowley grunt in surprise. Quickly, Crowley unwrapped a condom, slipping it on, all whilst kissing Aziraphale with all the heat and love that he could muster. 

Then, he gently pushed his cock into Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale hissed slightly. 

“Are you still OK?” Crowley asked, “Too much?”

Aziraphale shook his head, as the initial shock became something warm, a heat, a pressure that felt rather good. He awkwardly angled himself, gasping as the spot that Crowley had touched earlier was brushed against. “Oh…” 

“Oh, indeed, my angel,” Crowley said, relieved. He then carefully thrust into Aziraphale, monitoring his lover’s reactions. “Ngk, you’re so… fucking… tight…” Crowley moaned, “So good…”  
Aziraphale felt something building up inside him, as he figured out the pace, meeting Crowley thrust for thrust. He wrapped his legs around Crowley’s back, throwing his arms around his neck. He grazed kisses on Crowley’s shoulder, his neck, accidently nipping. Crowley let out the low growl that Aziraphale was so aroused by and sped up.

“Oh, shit, you’re going to make me cum, angel” he groaned, slamming into him. 

“Oh, ahhh…”

Aziraphale exploded, with a keening cry, shuddering as he felt Crowley’s own release, pulsating inside him with one final deep thrust. Crowley groaned, flopping his chest down onto Aziraphale’s. 

“Hello,” Aziraphale said, kissing Crowley gently on the forehead. 

“Hi,” Crowley replied, slipping out of Aziraphale whilst holding him close. 

“I have told you that I love you, haven’t I?” Crowley said, as he snuggled into Aziraphale. 

“I believe you have,” Aziraphale said, wrapping his arms around his lover, “I love you too, so much.”

They kissed, holding each other tightly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... 
> 
> This is the first time I've written smut since I was fifteen, as well as my first m/m scene so hopefully it's not too cringeworthy!
> 
> I've been reading a lot of explicit GO AU fics to prepare me for this moment, it was about time I contributed. Also, in this house we use protection, especially for first times!
> 
> After everything that's been going on with me, I felt like I needed to write something that would give me some sweet release (I was going to put this scene in another part of the story, but then decided that I needed to be cathartic, and it turns out writing smutty things is cathartic as heck to me!).


	15. Emotion, Devotion, To Causing a Commotion...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale's been sitting on a bit of a secret, much to Crowley's surprise and Anathema's amusement!

“So, why are we at the grungy old pub?” Crowley asked Anathema. 

Anathema took a sip of her ale, and smirked. She was on strict orders from Aziraphale to keep his secret. 

***  
It had been a few weeks ago when Aziraphale had been rushing out of rehearsals, when he had quite literally crashed into Anathema. He’d blushed like he usually did when he’d made a bit of a mistake, then panicked that he was going to be late. 

“Late to what exactly?” she had asked him. 

“You won’t laugh, will you?” he’d said.

“Depends, are you off to go and dress up in a silly costume and run about Hyde Park with a toy sword?”

“Not this time,” Aziraphale replied. 

Anathema pushed this new piece of information to the back of her mind for another day, “So where are you off to?” She brought her car keys from out of her pocket, “I could always give you a ride, if I’m passing wherever it is you’re going.”

“Are you going through Soho?” 

“I am, actually. Come on, I’ll give you a lift, then you’ll have to tell me what’s going on.”

They got into Anathema’s Mini Cooper and began to putter down the road.

“You still won’t laugh?” Aziraphale asked Anathema, as they drove along. 

“I’ll do my best,” Anathema said, “Cross my heart and hope to die,” she added, quickly crossing over her heart. 

“I’m part of an acapella group that specialises in music from geek culture,” Aziraphale confessed, “We have a gig coming up in a month, raising money for a really cool charity, so we’ve been rehearsing hard. We also are doing a flash mob in The Old Crown a week before the gig to get people interested.”

Anathema whistled, impressed. “Does Crowley know about this?”

Aziraphale shook his head, “I wanted to surprise him with it, especially as the flash mob piece might be from one of his favourite franchises…”

“I see…”

***

“That didn’t answer my question, Ana,” Crowley said, slightly annoyed. He didn’t like it when people were cryptic with him. He looked around him, trying to find Aziraphale. He looked at his phone, no text or missed call from him. Usually he was really good at letting him know when he was running late for anything, which was more often than you would think. He mentioned as much to Anathema, who was also looking at her phone with a shit-eating grin. 

“Oh you can search far and wide, you can drink the whole town dry, but you’ll never find a beer so brown, as the one we drink in our home town!”

Crowley whipped his head around in shock, now noticing quite a few young men and women, sat or stood in various parts of the pub, wearing something green, be it a sweater here, a hair ribbon there, a green scarf tucked into a back pocket, all singing quite heartily and in time, like they had been practicing for weeks. 

“You can keep your fancy ales, you can drink ‘em by the flagon, but the only brew for the brave and true… Comes from the Green Dragon!”

Crowley turned to Anathema, who just sniggered into her pint glass. She’d known all about it, he realised. He then texted Aziraphale:

AJC: You never guess what’s going on at the pub, that you’re missing out on?

Angel: Are you so sure about that, my dear boy?

AJC: What in the Hell do you mean by that?

Angel: 😉

Crowley put his phone down, rather confused at what was going on. Whatever it was, he was actually quite enjoying it. 

A young man got up on a bar stool, a shock of brown hair that looked like he’d been electrocuted. The other singers started to sing the backing tune whilst the young man took on a solo verse.   
“Hey, Ho! To the bottle I go, to heal my heart and drown my woe, rain my fall and wind may blow, but there still be many miles to go!”

A young woman walked up to the table that the man was near, perching up on it, lifting her pint glass in emphasis. “Sweet as the sound of the pouring rain, and the stream that falls from the hill to the plain, better than rain or rippling brook, is a mug of beer inside this took!”

Everyone cheered, including Anathema and Crowley. He felt himself getting swept off by the performance, as the singers started to bang on the bar, the tables with their hands, pint glasses and cutlery. 

“Blunt the knives, bend the forks, smash the bottles and burn the corks, chip the glasses and crack the plates…”

“THAT’S WHAT BILBO BAGGINS HATES!” The whole pub roared, Crowley included. 

The whole pub at this rate had joined in the raucous singing, “Cut the cloth, tread the fat, leave the bones on the bedroom mat, pour the milk on the pantry floor, splash the wine on every door!”  
Crowley leaned towards Anathema who was really smiling now. “It’s a shame Aziraphale isn’t here to see this, he loves this kind of thing…”

“I’m sure he’ll get to join in on all the fun…” Anathema replied with a smirk. 

“Dump the crocks on the boiling bowl, pound them up with a thumping pole, and when you’re finished if they are whole, send them down the hall to roll!” the singers continued, before going into an instrumental chorus. 

Then, someone carefully and quickly got up onto the bar. 

Crowley looked up, squeaking with shock to find that it was Aziraphale. 

“There’s an inn, there’s an inn, a merry old inn beneath the old grey hill, and there they brew a beer so brown The Man on The Moon himself came down one night to drink his fill…”

He saw Crowley, winked, and carried on singing, as the rest of the singers accompanied him with their own voices. Crowley’s heart fluttered, in awe of how confident his angel seemed in this spotlight.

“The ostler has a tipsy cat that plays the five string fiddle, and up and down he saws his bow, now squeaking high…” Aziraphale hit the high note with ease, causing most of the pub to cheer, “now purring low,” he continued in a low, gravelly voice that Crowley didn’t think Aziraphale was able to hit, the pub chuckling at the contrast for comedic effect, “Now sawing in the middle.”

The tempo of the other singers picked up. 

“So the cat on his fiddle played hey-diddle-diddle, a jig that would wake the dead: He squeaked and sawed and he quickened the tune, while the landlord shook the Man on The Moon: ‘It’s after three’, he said,” Aziraphale sang, stamping his foot to keep himself in time, as the patrons of the pub clapped along. 

He sped up even quicker, “Now quicker the fiddle went deedle-dum-diddle, the dog began to roar, the cow and the horses stood on their heads, the guests all bounded from their beds and danced upon the floor.”

Aziraphale was practically sing-rapping the final verse, “The round Moon rolled behind the hill, as the Sun raised up her head, she hardly believed her firey eyes; for those it was day, to her surprise, they all went back to bed!”

He then hopped back off the bar and sat back down at his bar stool, hidden from view, as the final note from the rest of the singers finished. The singers went back to what they had been doing to start with as if nothing had happened. The pub roared with applause, whoops and cheers.

The young man from earlier stood back up on his stool.

“Thank you so much, for allowing us to interrupt your evening here at The Old Crown!” he said, “We are The Fellowship of The Acapella Ring, and we are performing a Charity Benefit Show in just a week’s time, raising much needed funds for Become, a UK charity that supports young people who have been in the care system or are still in care. If you want to know more details, find one of the Fellows, who are wearing green accessories! Thanks again, and good night!”

There was another rumble of applause, as the young man sat back down.

“So, what did you think?”

Crowley spun around to find Aziraphale stood right behind him, grinning very hard. Crowley got up, pulling Aziraphale into a tight embrace.

“You were magnificent up there, my Angel,” Crowley said, “I had no idea you did acapella though!”

Aziraphale smirked, kissing Crowley. “Thought I’d surprise you,” he said, “I know how much you love The Hobbit, so I persuaded Colin to add a medley to the line-up.”

Aziraphale looked over Crowley’s shoulder at Anathema, who raised her glass to him with a wink. He then let go of Crowley, turning to the bar. 

“I don’t know about you, but I could do with a drink!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update took a bit of a while, I've been spending most of the past week or so holed up at home on bereavement leave, desperately coordinating attending my granddad'd funeral with the off-site residential training that I am meant to do with work - luckily that's all been sorted, but it's been quite the headache! 
> 
> It turns out that I actually needed to leave the house to get back into the creative groove, so I holed myself up in a coffee shop at frantically typed this chapter up, as well as looking up monster stats for the D&D campaign I'm running this weekend, and planning for the original romance novel I might be writing...
> 
> I was listening to Peter Hollens' and Hank Green's Hobbit Medley on Youtube, and imagined Aziraphale and a group of nerdy singers singing it in a pub ages ago, and have now finally written it into reality. Yes, Aziraphale also LARPs (he got into it at college and carried on in Drama School, deal with it!). The charity that the Fellowship of The Acapella Ring are supporting is a real charity, that gave me the resources I needed in order to choose which university I wanted to go to based on the support for care-leavers, I also was on a focus team with them when they created a website based on those resources when I was the Care-Leaver Rep with my university's Student's Union.


	16. I Live This Moment As My Last...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As it gets closer to the Festive season, Aziraphale hears some painful news, and a bonsai tree brings back memories...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fear that some angst is returning, but not the kind that is usually in this ship...

October turned into November, which was filled with rehearsals, dates and drinks with friends. November was now December 1st, in nothing more than a blink of an eye. The nights were getting longer and colder. Aziraphale was growing to further appreciate the fact that he now had a someone that he could cuddle up to as the winds began to blow colder and more bitter on their walks to and from the theatre. Christmas lights were beginning to be set up on all the streetlights and shop fronts. Yet, there was something in the air that also made Aziraphale feel terribly uneasy. There were things that he was learning about that were making him feel rather melancholy, that all the cheer around him didn’t feel very real to him at all. Despite everything, he had carried on with rehearsals, throwing himself into all the numbers with a gusto that had gained him praise from Gabriel, but concern from his cast-mates. 

Yet, Aziraphale could appreciate the festive season, after all, he wasn’t a total Scrooge. He’d ‘celebrated’ with friends in the past, especially when Christmas fell in the Chanukah period, enjoyed the more secular traditions of the tree, presents and spending time with loved ones, loved ones that he had chosen, but it wasn’t his holiday, not really. He sighed as the lights flickered on for the first time one evening, as he and Crowley started their walk to their respective homes, hand in hand, breath swirling in the air. 

“There’s something rather magical about the end of November,” Aziraphale mused, as he snuggled into Crowley’s side, “It’s like the whole world is getting ready to go to bed and start all over again in the morning.”

Crowley snorted cynically, “Always the sentimental one, my angel,” he said, “November ending means it’ll be December any minute, that means having to prepare for the awkward family gatherings, overcrowded Christmas Markets and drunken Christmas gatherings with old school friends and cousins, not the best thing to look forward too.”

Aziraphale nodded thoughtfully. “I suppose you will only find those things if you go out of your way to find them,” he said, “Call me optimistic, but if you want to have happy holidays, you have to seek out the happy bits and focus on those.” There was something far away in his voice, that didn’t seem to be here and there in the moment like it usually was. It was something that Crowley couldn’t put his finger on. Crowley squeezed Aziraphale’s arm gently. Aziraphale always seemed to be able to find the light in the darkness, even if he didn’t quite realise it. How he did it was absolutely beyond Crowley’s understanding, especially after some of the awful things that had happened in Aziraphale’s life. It was one of the reasons that Crowley loved Aziraphale so much. Perhaps he could learn something from Aziraphale. 

Yet, there was something that wasn’t quite right, like something had shifted out of place. 

They finally made it back to Crowley’s apartment. It was closer to the theatre than Aziraphale’s, as they were meant to be coming back to the theatre for a benefit full dress rehearsal for MAD Trust – a few weeks previously there had been an auction to raise funds for the charity, and on International AIDS Day they were to do a full run-through of the show for the highest bidders. It made sense for them to help out, the show they were in had strong themes suited to the charity. 

Crowley opened the door. As he went to walk inside, Aziraphale stopped, a smirk on his face. “Get thee behind me, foul fiend,” Aziraphale said. Crowley paused, laughter on his lips. Aziraphale flushed, “Uh, after you,” he said. 

They entered the apartment, shutting the rest of the world out. 

Crowley’s apartment was as dark as Aziraphale’s was light. It had minimalistic decoration, dark walls and modern furniture that looked more beautiful than comfortable. Crowley flicked the lights on, peeled off his leather jacket, dumping it onto the floor. Aziraphale tutted affectionately, before shucking off his own coat and hanging it up on the hat stand by the door, before picking up Crowley’s jacket and hanging it up too. Everywhere you looked, there were various plants in dark, artistic plant pots, luscious and green. Aziraphale wandered over to a little bonsai tree, admiring it. For some reason, it reminded him of his Grandpa, with all the little trees creating a forest in a greenhouse. He smiled, remembering a time where he might have over-watered one of them, but it hadn’t mattered, even when he’d cried about it, he’d been all forgiven. 

Crowley had been in the kitchen, putting the kettle on to fix them both a cup of coffee, when he saw Aziraphale looking at the bonsai tree. There was something about his expression, so wistful and sad. The kettle popped as the water finished boiling, so Crowley poured the water into the cafetière, letting the ground coffee infuse for a little while. He then went out of the kitchen to check up on his lover. 

Aziraphale felt two arms circling his middle from behind. He sighed, leaning into Crowley’s chest. 

“Are you alright?” Crowley asked. 

“I guess sometimes when you lose someone, you don’t think about it as much unless you are reminded of them,” Aziraphale said, tilting his head back to look at Crowley. Crowley gently kissed Aziraphale’s forehead. “It also makes you think about the ones you ought to spend a bit more time with, as they aren’t going to be around forever, but you never do because you make up one excuse after another, too busy, too tired, too stressed, don’t want to bring up what has been before,” Aziraphale added with a heavy sigh. Crowley said nothing, merely held Aziraphale tighter than he had ever done before. 

After a while, Crowley asked, “What’s brought this on all of a sudden, Angel?” 

Aziraphale shuddered, before turning to face Crowley. “I was talking to Grandmamma yesterday,” he said, “She isn’t very well. She hasn’t been for a while. But when she called last night… She thinks… no… she’s… she’s dying.”

*** 

“Hello Grandmamma!”

“Ah, my little lamb, it’s so good to hear your voice!”

Grandmamma’s voice sounded shakier, frailer than it had done the day before when they had spoken. Aziraphale’s anxiety spiked up, as he leaned back in his chair with his coffee. He was sat alone in the dressing room, not needing to be in rehearsals for at least half an hour. 

“How’s that show of yours going?”

“It’s going great! We’re doing a benefit dress rehearsal tomorrow, for an AIDS charity.”

“That’s fantastic! I’m so proud of you,” Grandmamma said, “And how is that fine young man of yours? Anthony, was it?”

“Yes, well, he prefers Crowley,” Aziraphale replied, “He’s well, things are great between us right now. He loved my flash mob show at the pub. I think you’d have loved it too…”

“Well, I need to meet him sometime, honey,” Grandmamma said, “I need to make sure he’s a proper partner for my favourite grandchild. Especially if he’s the one I’ll be delivering you to at the chuppah one day…”

Aziraphale blushed, before changing the subject, “How’s things over there? Hope they are treating you alright,” Aziraphale said, reaching out for the packet of digestive biscuits, deftly picking one out of the packet and popping it into his mouth. 

“I’m being very well looked after, don’t you worry about me my chickadee,” Grandmamma said, before coughing violently down the phone.

Aziraphale bolted upright, biscuit falling out of his mouth, dropping on the floor. He hadn’t heard a cough quite like it before, especially from her. It was guttural, watery yet dry all at the same time. It had a rattle to it that was eerie, it frightened him to hear it. 

“Grandmamma, you don’t sound well. I can skip rehearsals; I can come to see you…”

“Oh, my darling boy,” Grandmamma said, voice even shakier than before, “It’s nothing more than old age getting the better of me. You know, despite everything, I can feel myself getting to the end of my life, I am at peace with that. As long as I get to see you on stage, as well as married and settled, I shall be happy and at peace. I can hear your Grandpapa calling for me in my dreams, I feel ready to go on…”

“Don’t say that, Grandmamma,” Aziraphale said, tears running silently down his face, “Please don’t say that…”

***

Crowley pulled Aziraphale into a closer embrace. Aziraphale buried his face into Crowley’s sweater, the wool scratching his face. But he didn’t care, as the tears that he had been holding back for the past few days, deep heavy sobs that racked through his body. He felt his legs going loose, like jelly. Both of them sunk to the ground, Crowley cradling Aziraphale in his arms. Crowley stroked Aziraphale’s hair whilst his sobs turned into hiccups as he tried to recompose himself. 

“I am so sorry,” Crowley said, “I am so sorry, Aziraphale…”

“She’s all I have left of my family,” Aziraphale said, “She and Grandpapa were the only ones that understood me, liked me, loved me,” he said, “Now that’ll be gone…”

Crowley kissed him on the forehead, wiping his tears away with his thumb. Aziraphale looked up at Crowley and saw that there were tears in his eyes as well. 

“People leave us, no matter what we do to try and keep them here,” Crowley said softly, “All we can do is to be there for them as they go, as well as love those who are saying goodbye in the way that they know best,” he paused, then said, “Tell me about them, tell me all the stories about them that you are able to tell.”

Aziraphale smiled a watery smile. “OK,” he said, “Did I ever tell you about the time, when I was seven, that Grandmamma told me off because Aunt Gertrude’s dog ate the meat shopping for the week because I left the shopping in the living room instead of taking it to the kitchen?”

*** 

They talked so much that they forgot all about the coffee that had been brewing on the kitchen side. The two of them had somehow moved without thinking from the floor to the sofa, snuggled in together whilst they talked, laughed and cried together. 

Aziraphale checked his phone for the time. An hour until curtain up.

“Oh, shit,” he said, leaping up, rubbing his hand over his face to clear the last of his tears from his face, “We have to get going, we’ll be late!”

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay in tonight, we can call Hastur and Ligur to understudy for us?” Crowley asked. 

“Don’t be silly,” Aziraphale said, shrugging his coat on, “The one thing that Grandmamma would want me to do is carry on as if everything is alright, because, to her, everything is alright. Performing makes me feel like everything is alright in the world, it’ll take my mind off of things, just for a little while. I’ll go see her at the home as soon as it’s open to visitors tomorrow.”

“I’ll support you, no matter what you decide to do,” Crowley said, pulling on his coat, opening the front door. 

“Did you want to come with me? She’s been asking to meet you for a while now,” Aziraphale said, “Unless that’s too weird, or too fast or too much…”

Crowley looked at Aziraphale. His lover’s eyes were panicked, red from crying. “No, Angel, not at all. I’d love to meet her,” he said, “After all, I have to be approved, right?”

Aziraphale laughed, kissing Crowley quickly on the lips. 

“You sure do!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with me during my hiatus!
> 
> MAD Trust is a UK charity focusing on HIV+ and AIDS in the Theatre community in the UK, offering those in the industry free HIV+ tests among other things. They are well worth supporting if you're a UK reader!
> 
> I haven't been all that motivated to write anything lately, not even my original fictions as well as this fic. My grandfather's funeral was a couple of weeks ago, so I have been in a bit of a funk because of it. 
> 
> I also was in London on Thursday, finally seeing Dear Evan Hansen and Come From Away as well as enjoying the sites of St. James Park (and a sighting of Prince Charles taking an early afternoon stroll with his security guards!). No ducks, but lots of geese there that nearly had my fingers when I refused to share my lunch with them!
> 
> In a way, I'm using this fic to process my grief for both my grandparents (I didn't really allow myself to grieve for my grandmother, and am getting the hang of this emptiness in my chest with the loss of both grandparents, especially as my foster care background caused me to lose so much time with them, it's a complicated kind of grief). I'm giving Aziraphale these memories of mine (I have killed a bonsai tree by accident, and also let a relative's dog eat my Nan's shopping by accident when I was a kid and got yelled at by my Nan) as a way of paying tribute to these complicated, wonderful people. I'd say that Aziraphale's Grandmamma is more like my Granddad than my Nan though.


	17. How Can A Morning So Mild Be So Raw?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley go to visit Grandmamma at The Home.

“So, this is it,” Aziraphale said, “This is The Home.”

The two men stood in front of the building. They had stopped at Madame Tracy's florist shop on the way, picking out a simple bouquet of peonies and red carnations to take with them for Grandmamma. Aziraphale was clutching them like they were a lifeline, stopping him from drowning in his anxiety and sadness. 

Crowley looked up at the large, looming building and shuddered. It was the kind of building that didn’t feel very kind. The white limestone was grimy from the fumes of the city, but the front door was white, like it had been cleaned that very morning. The sign ‘Miss Jones’ Old People’s Home’ was attached to the wall surrounding the front garden, stark and plain. He gulped; these places always creeped him out. When he got old, he much preferred the idea of getting someone to shoot him and bury him in a field or something, rather than finding himself at one of those godforsaken places. He saw Aziraphale’s face get paler, he obviously didn’t like the place very much either. Crowley reached out, taking Aziraphale’s hand into his own. He gave it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. 

“I bet she’s really looking forward to seeing you,” he said. 

Aziraphale nodded, his eyes looking rather glassy. He took a deep breath, steadying himself. 

He wanted to be strong for Grandmamma, she hated seeing him sad. Deep down, Aziraphale knew just how much she hated living in this place. There had been problems for as long as he could remember, the staff were cold and unfeeling, the chefs refused to give Grandmamma kosher food, so Aziraphale had to single-handedly fight with the owners of the home to ensure that this was done. It had been a case of his parents finding the first place that had a space when Grandmamma became too weak to live at home on her own, dumping her and not looking back. The least he could do, after everything she had ever done for him, was to be there for her now, in her hour of need. 

He squeezed Crowley’s hand back. 

Together, they walked down the path and entered the building. 

The reception area had an odd, clinical smell to it, mixed in with age and loneliness. It made Crowley shudder, but he kept a brave face on for his love. Aziraphale greeted the girl on the desk, who grunted in response, looking up from her iPhone in an annoyed manner.

“We’re here to see Mrs. Cohen?”

The girl grunted again, gesturing to a rather sad, sparse looking sign in sheet before going back to her phone. Aziraphale quickly signed himself and Crowley in, noting the time of entry, who they were visiting. Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand, before they went in through the large wooden doors in front of them. 

They found themselves in a large ‘living room’ space, bland and cold feeling. With various elderly residents sat in their own chairs, sleeping or staring out into space, it made the place seem even more miserable than first thought. The only sounds that could be heard was the BBC News blaring out of the television on the wall, or the distant sounds of snoring coming from various chairs dotted around the room.

“Aziraphale, is that you?”

“Grandmamma!”

Aziraphale let go of Crowley’s hand, handed over the flowers, before practically running over to one chair that was tucked away in the corner of the room. It was like all the years had melted away, suddenly Aziraphale was a child running to his favourite person in all the world, his face full of delight and cheer. 

The woman in the chair was so tiny, yet so large all at the same time. She was wiry, thin, grey, thinning curls on her head, glasses perched on the end of her nose, rather like Aziraphale’s did when he was reading. There was no doubt about it that this was the woman that was Aziraphale’s Grandmamma. She embraced her grandson with all the strength that she could muster, letting him bury his face into her neck. Tenderly, she stroked his hair, kissing him on the cheek. 

“You look thinner, my dear boy,” she said, when they broke apart, “Have you been eating enough?”

“It’s probably all the dance rehearsals, Grandmamma,” Aziraphale said, “I’m more active than I used to be.”

“In that case, you’d better look in my handbag, there might be something in there to nibble,” Grandmamma said, grinning. 

“I ate before I came, Grandmamma,” Aziraphale moaned, but the old woman was insistent. Crowley watched with amusement as Aziraphale relented, went into her handbag, which, randomly, had a packet of custard creams in it. 

“I won’t ask how you came by these, Grandmamma,” Aziraphale said, “But I’ll have one if it’ll make you happy.”

Grandmamma ruffled Aziraphale’s hair, before he pulled up a couple of rickety wooden chairs, putting them next to Grandmamma’s easy chair. Grandmamma then looked up, seeing Crowley.   
“Aziraphale, you didn’t tell me you were bringing company!” she said, “I’d have popped a nicer blouse on this morning!” She saw the bouquet, smiling at the sight of them. “You really shouldn’t have brought me anything,” she said, “They are beautiful.”

“Picked them out especially for you,” Crowley said, “Aziraphale said you’d probably like them for your room, brighten it up a bit.”

Aziraphale chuckled, gesturing for Crowley to come closer. As he did so, Grandmamma grabbed Crowley’s hands. They were so tiny, frailer than bird bones in his hands.

“Red hair, sunglasses, thin and darkly dressed…” Grandmamma said, “You must be Crowley.”

“Yes, I’m Crowley,” he said, “Aziraphale’s told me a lot about you.”

“He’s told me a lot about you too, all good, so don’t you worry, dear,” she said, “Aziraphale, sweetheart, make sure Crowley has a biscuit, he’s much too slim!”

Aziraphale gave Crowley a look that said, ‘she thinks everyone needs feeding up, don’t worry too much’, handing over the packet of custard creams. 

Crowley sighed. “You know, I haven’t had one of these since I was a boy,” he said, taking one and chewing it thoughtfully, “My Nan used to always have a packet of these to hand, especially if I’d had a bad day.”

Grandmamma smiled, patting Crowley’s hand, “It seems to be the way of a grandmother,” she said, “We always know what our grandchildren need even if they don’t quite know it themselves.”  
She looked at Aziraphale with a knowing smirk, he responded by rolling his eyes good naturedly. Ah, so that’s where the smirk comes from, Crowley thought to himself, as he took a seat next to his boyfriend. 

He watched as Aziraphale and Grandmamma had animated conversations about the show, the people he had met, his acappella group’s concert that was being performed on Saturday night. She even asked how Crowley and he had met, which caused many blushes and stammered stories. Occasionally she coughed, especially after laughing, that rattily, wet cough that was signalling worse things to come. Crowley tried to ignore it, for Aziraphale’s sake, but he could see that Aziraphale was looking more and more anguished by the whole thing. It broke his heart. 

After what didn’t seem to be a very long time at all, a young woman in scrubs came over. She looked bored. “Visiting time’s over, we need to take Mrs. Cohen back to her room now,” she said. 

Grandmamma suddenly shrank down five sizes, the light leaving her eyes. She reached out to Aziraphale, who let himself be enveloped in her arms. She whispered something into his ear, making him blush. It was now that Crowley could see just how sick Grandmamma was. 

“Come here, Crowley,” she said, when she’d finally let go of her grandson. He allowed himself to be pulled into an embrace. It started off being tight, but the strength of it waned.   
“Do you love him?” she asked. 

“Yes,” Crowley replied, without hesitation, “He makes me a better person than I was.”

“You’re a good person, despite what you might want to portray to the world,” she whispered into Crowley’s ear, “Look after him, God knows that he needs someone to help guide him through the world, once I’m gone.”

Crowley nodded. Carefully hugging Grandmamma back. “I promise,” he said, “No matter what happens.”

“Then I give you my blessing,” Grandmamma said, kissing him on the cheek, “Go and be happy, love each other and be joyful.”

“We will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be a story-arc for a little while, so I thought it best to actually introduce you to the wonderful person that is Grandmamma. 
> 
> OAP homes are awful, I hated seeing my grandparents in the one that they ended up in, especially when my Nan got ill and couldn't support my Granddad any more with his dementia. The one they were at was a nice one though, the staff did care for the residents unlike the one that Grandmamma is at. 
> 
> Things are getting easier now, I'm being supported by my wonderful boyfriend as well as my friends, I've got work, this fic, D&D and Scouting to keep me out of a misery-spiral. 
> 
> Thank you to all my readers for their continued support, my heart still goes a-flutter when I see an Inbox notification ping up!


	18. See If Anything Comes of It...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the first night of Preview performances, and Crowley has a surprise up his sleeve for Aziraphale...

Aziraphale sighed as Newt fitted his mike pack to his costume. It was strange to wear Mark’s glasses rather than his own, the famous scarf wrapped around his neck. The camera prop leaned against the kettle on the desk. This was it, the first Preview show. Everything that they had been working towards had come to this moment. They were about to put on a show for an actual paying audience for the very first time. The thought thrilled him yet terrified him all at the same time. 

Newt stepped back, admiring his handiwork. Despite his clumsiness, he was rather gentle when setting up the mikes for the actors, making him the prime choice for the main cast’s tech needs.   
“Cast call to stage in five minutes,” said Gabriel over the tannoy speakers, “That’s a Cast call to stage in five minutes.”

Aziraphale looked to the dressing table behind him, which was strangely unoccupied. It wasn’t like Crowley to not be ready to get onto stage at the same time as Aziraphale. It was beginning to make Aziraphale feel rather anxious about his boyfriend’s whereabouts. 

He hadn’t seen Crowley since first thing that morning when they’d arrived at the theatre for the vocal and physical warm-ups. They’d greeted each other in the dressing room like usual, quick, yet heated kisses. But Crowley had held him closer and tighter than usual. It was rather lovely, Aziraphale thought, yet it unnerved him. Perhaps Crowley was nervous about the day ahead, he thought. No, that couldn’t be right, Aziraphale further mused, Crowley has been doing this on various West End stages for years. Maybe Crowley was reassuring him. Yes, perhaps that was it. That made a lot more sense, after all. 

Then there were the warm-ups and final run-through. Aziraphale watched Crowley. There was a distracted air to Crowley’s countenance that Aziraphale couldn’t put his finger on. Crowley still sounded brilliant, raw and unrefined, yet clear and true, he still moved with a fluidity that was unmatched by any of the other members of the cast. But there was something that wasn’t quite usual. When you spend a lot of time with someone, be it as a castmate, or as a lover, you notice every nuance to that person’s being. You realise when something isn’t quite how it ought to be. 

After Bee and Gabriel gave their notes from the run-through, they were given permission to go on their break before the show. Aziraphale was about to take Crowley to one side to make sure that he was alright, when Crowley rushed over, gave him a quick kiss on the lips, said he had to go and do something rather quickly, that he’d see him in time to be miked up for the first preview show of the run. Before Aziraphale was able to ask him about what was going on, Crowley had vanished. 

With another sigh, Aziraphale nodded to Newt, gave him a shaky thumbs up, then rushed out of the room, leaving Aziraphale to his own devices. The door clicked closed behind him, the room now painfully silent. Usually there was The Best Of Queen humming away in the background of the room, or the Playstation that Crowley had hooked up to a television on the wall of the dressing room was either running a game that the both of them were working their way through, or Netflix would be playing Brooklyn 99. Now it was silent. The weight of it piled on top of Aziraphale, as he checked his phone for what felt like the millionth time. 

Nothing from Crowley. 

Nothing from Grandmamma. 

The second one worried him far more than the first. Grandmamma would have called by now. They spoke every day, that was true, but she also insisted on calling him just before he went on stage when he was at Drama School, had promised to keep up the tradition now that he was now in a proper production. Yet, the phone had kept very tight-lipped all day. What if something had happened to her? Wouldn’t The Home had contacted him if that was the case, as he was her next of kin? 

As Aziraphale was taking some deep breaths to calm himself, Crowley ran through the dressing room door, a big grin on his face, a bouquet of peonies and daffodils in his hands. He gave them to Aziraphale with a loving kiss on the forehead. Aziraphale took in the scent of the flowers, feeling much calmer. 

“You have to have your first ‘Good Luck’ bouquet,” Crowley said.

“They are gorgeous, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, getting up from his chair and pulling Crowley into a warm embrace, “You always outdo yourself, dearheart.”

Crowley looked at Aziraphale with a smile that, whilst large and happy, had a bit of a secret to it, one that he wasn’t quite going to reveal to his love just yet. 

“I don’t quite think you are prepared for what me outdoing myself will truly entail, my Angel,” he said, “I’d better get changed and made up quick, otherwise Gabriel is going to have my guts for garters…”

“Cast call to stage in two minutes, this is the cast call to stage in two minutes,” Gabriel’s voice said, sounding stressed. 

Crowley grabbed his costume off of the rail, before shucking off his outdoor clothes and pulling the costume on. Aziraphale helped Crowley quickly slap on some foundation, eyeliner and bronzer, before rushing out into the corridor to grab Newt to mike Crowley up. 

“Cast call to stage in one minute, one minute people,” Gabriel’s voice said, even more harried than before. 

“Right, Crowley,” Newt said, “That should be you ready to rock and roll. Break a leg, you two!”

Newt rushed out of the room once again, leaving Aziraphale and Crowley alone. 

“We’d best get to the stage,” Aziraphale said. Crowley nodded, taking Aziraphale’s hand and leading him out of the dressing room, down the corridor, towards the stage. Quickly, they let go, took a deep breath, getting into character.

They ran out onto the stage to deafening cheers roaring at them as they took their places. 

Aziraphale looked out at the sea of faces that he could just make out against the brightness of the stage lights. 

And saw his Grandmamma sat in the front row.

He smiled, resisting the urge to wave at her, resist saying, "Look at me, I've done it, Grandmamma, just like you said that I would!" 

The band struck up the first notes. 

"December 24th, 9pm, Eastern Standard Time, from here on in I shoot without a script..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The festive period has rather distracted me from my writing, so I apologise for the wait for this chapter. 
> 
> I hope that everyone has had a lovely Christmas/having a wonderful Hannukah! I spent my festive break eating my body weight in chocolate, turkey and wine, with my boyfriend's family, followed with watching all the festive television (I'm a huge Call The Midwife fan!). I also went to see Little Women at the cinema with my boyfriend yesterday, and tonight I'll be playing with the scalextric set and making egg nog before I get dropped off back home as I have work early tomorrow morning :'(
> 
> I shall be a bit more active in the new year, Scout's Honour ;)


	19. There's Only Us, There's Only This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They've gotten to the first Preview performance - and Crowley has another surprise up his sleeve for his angel...

“NO DAY BUT TODAY!”

The final notes of the finale rang through the theatre. Aziraphale felt the tears streaming down his face as the lights went down. He felt someone squeezing his hand, before quickly letting go as the lights came back up. To his delight, it was Crowley that was smiling tenderly at him, his own eyes looking rather misty. 

The cast ran to the edge of the stage to take their bows, one or two at a time. First, all the swings that had performed, including Hastur and Ligur bowed to the sound of the whoops and cheers. Then Jill and Helen rushed up to bow, Jill getting a really loud cheer. Robert and Will took their bows after that. Crowley grabbed Anathema by the hand, bowing with her to a really huge cheer. Daniel floated back onto stage, wrapped in the sheet he had exited the stage in a little while before as the audience roared with appreciation. 

Then, Aziraphale rushed up to take his first bow. The audience gave him a standing ovation as he bowed. This was it; this was the moment he had dreamed of having ever since he was young and putting on one boy plays for his grandparents. Instead of two people applauding him, there were hundreds, no, maybe even a couple of thousands. He could no longer make out anything more than loud noise, as he looked out across the stage at all the people in the audience. Aziraphale swelled with pride, as the rest of the cast lined up on the stage with him to take their cast bow before the encore. 

He waited for the notes of ‘Seasons of Love’ to begin for the encore, but they didn’t come. 

Gabriel and Bee walked onto the stage, Gabriel smiling as he pushed Grandmamma, who was holding a huge bouquet of sunflowers, onto the stage in her wheelchair. Aziraphale broke from the ranks of the cast, rushing to her side. He let her pull him into a deep embrace, sobbing with happiness into her shoulder. The audience cheered with delight at seeing this, as the cast applauded them both.   
After a minute or so, Aziraphale was released from the embrace. Grandmamma handed him the bouquet, smiling brightly. “You did it, my darling boy, you really did it,” she whispered into his ear. 

Aziraphale grinned, wiping his eyes with the back of the hand that he had free. 

“I did, didn’t I?” he replied, the weight of his achievement finally sinking in, “And you got to see me do it.”

“Thank your young man for that,” Grandmamma said, looking over at Crowley with a wink, “He was most persuasive to that Miss Jones.”

Crowley shrugged casually, smirking at Aziraphale, “Turns out that I can certainly be tempting when I need to be,” he said, “I may have given her some tickets for the run in exchange,” he whispered in Aziraphale’s ear, causing his face to turn bright pink. 

“You sly snake,” Aziraphale said with a giggle, kissing Crowley on the cheek. 

Gabriel then turned to the audience. He cleared his throat to speak as the audience fell silent. 

“Thank you so much for coming to the first Preview of the revival of Rent on the West End stage,” he said, “It’s been a whirlwind year for the whole cast as well as our band and crew and we are so grateful for your support.”

Bee then stood next to Gabriel with a grin on their face. 

“It’s not just been a whirlwind year for the production, but also for two of our cast members. If anyone out of all of us knows the meaning of living every day like their last, it’s our Crowley,” they gestured to Crowley, who was suddenly looking rather nervous. “I think it’s time for me to hand this over to you,” Bee said, nodding to Crowley. 

Crowley took Aziraphale by the hand and lead him into centre-stage.

“There’s something we say here in this show,” Crowley said, “No day but Today, right?”

Aziraphale nodded, dumbstruck and rather confused at what was happening. 

“Well, this year has really shown me how to live with those words very much in my heart and soul. Even when there is darkness in life, you have been a beacon of light,” Crowley said, not letting go of Aziraphale’s hand, “You’ve gone through so much, yet despite everything you are the person that I wish I was, I pinch myself every day when I get to wake up, knowing that you are in my life.”  
Crowley got down on one knee. 

The audience gasped as Crowley brought out a little black box from his pocket, opening it and offering it to Aziraphale. Inside was a ring. It was silver, with a little sapphire set in the metal, softly glowing under the stage lights. 

“Will you make me the happiest man ever to grace this stage and marry me, Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale’s heart swelled, his eyes watered with tears of joy. He knelt in front of Crowley, gently laying the sunflowers down on the ground next to them, so they were on the same level as each other and he could look his love in the eye when he gave his answer. 

“Of course, I will.” He replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year to you all!
> 
> I hope that you all had a wonderful time ringing in the new '20s! I hung out with friends and my boyfriend - eating cake, playing Taskmaster and making a fire. We even had sparklers! 
> 
> I had to edit a chapter to make sure that the dates worked out, I know some couples get engaged really quickly, but I didn't think that these two would rush into a big commitment after a few months. But other than that, I'm so happy with how things are going with the fic.


	20. Oh, Lover, I'll Cover You...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-Proposal and Preview Show, Aziraphale and Crowley take a moment to themselves...

After a whirlwind of congratulations from cast and crew, flowers tossed in their general direction and a flurry of fans at the stage door waving programmes at them for autographs, Aziraphale felt like he was on top of the world. It felt like everything was finally slotting into place, he was finally happy, truly happy. He was living the life that he had always wanted to, full of joy, love and music. On top of that, he had something that he never expected to find, he had the love of a fiery soul with a deep, husky voice and strong hands. 

He needed to take a minute. 

Aziraphale signed the last programme, took the last fan-selfie, before retreating back to the theatre, back to the dressing room. No place like home, he thought to himself, as he stepped into the room, a sigh of tired joy in his breath. 

He looked up and saw Crowley, casually leaning against the desk. He’d most probably started to change out of his costume and must have heard Aziraphale walking up the corridor to the dressing room. He was shirtless, his pale chest glowing in the mirror lights, his hair, released from the scrapped-back ponytail of the Roger that Crowley portrayed, was puffed out and mussed. He looked positively breath-taking. 

“Hello, Angel.”

“Hello,” Aziraphale said, stepping closer to Crowley. 

“Quite a night we’ve had,” Crowley said, reaching out to Aziraphale, taking his hand and pulling him into an embrace. 

“Indeed,” Aziraphale replied, wrapping his arms around Crowley’s frame. He took a deep, grounding breath. He could smell his fiancé’s (fiancé!) cologne, warm and spicy, yet also something else that was just Crowley. Like home. He pulled Crowley closer, so that he could feel his heart beating against his body. 

“I can’t wait for this to be every night, properly” Aziraphale said gently, “Us to perform, then come back to our sanctuary, and just be.”

Crowley kissed Aziraphale in the nape of his neck. Aziraphale shivered with the sensation. Yet, he suddenly felt rather warm. He looked up at Crowley, before meeting their lips together in a kiss. Aziraphale ran his hands down Crowley’s chest, making him groan at the sensation. Crowley deepened the kiss, grabbing Aziraphale’s hair, gently tugging at the curls. 

Aziraphale quickly looked around, realising that he’d left the door to the dressing room wide open. 

“What? You’re worried someone might see?” Crowley purred, letting a hand gently caress Aziraphale’s cheek. He smiled as Aziraphale blushed. He leaned in to Aziraphale, whispering into his ear, “Well, let them see,” he growled softly, before carefully nipping Aziraphale’s ear. Feeling him shudder against his body was just delicious, he’d be able to enjoy that feeling for the rest of his life and it made Crowley full of happiness. 

Aziraphale smirked, looking back at Crowley. “Very well,” he said, “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Hands landed back on Crowley’s bare chest. His skin was warm to the touch, yet so smooth, like caressing satin. A trail of goosebumps was left behind, as Aziraphale slowly sunk to his knees. Crowley’s breath hitched as Aziraphale reached for the zipper of his jeans. 

“This OK?” Aziraphale asked. 

“God, yes,” Crowley replied. He could feel himself quickly hardening, twitching and needing desperately to be set free. Aziraphale grinned, raising an eyebrow as he undid the zipper, and carefully, yet quickly pulled the jeans Crowley was wearing down. He could see Crowley’s cock straining against his boxers. Aziraphale licked his lips to wet them in anticipation for what he was about to do. He trailed a finger against the waistband of the boxers, only touching cloth rather than skin at this point. Crowley started to fidget and pant, bucking his hips towards Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale stopped what he was doing, looking up at Crowley. “And what do you think you are doing?” he asked, with a wicked smirk, his eyes glinting with a stern mischief that Crowley had never seen before. It only served to turn him on further. 

“Please, my Angel, please don’t tease me so,” Crowley panted, “It’s so beautifully cruel.”

“Hush now,” Aziraphale said, pinging the elastic of the boxers against Crowley’s skin. It only stung a little bit, but Crowley realised that it felt so good. “Let me do this,” Aziraphale said, a tinge of authority on his voice that was new, yet so seductive to Crowley at the same time. 

“OK…” Crowley replied, his voice shaking with desire, with need. Aziraphale went back to caressing the waistband of Crowley’s boxers. After what felt like forever, he then let his hand move down towards Crowley’s ass, giving it a cheeky squeeze.

Crowley gasped. 

Aziraphale then leaned in, grabbed the waistband of the boxers with his teeth, pulling the boxers down to release Crowley’s cock. Gently, he kissed Crowley’s groin, before deftly taking Crowley’s cock into his mouth. 

“Fuuuuu….”

Crowley moaned as Aziraphale got to work, sucking and stroking the length of Crowley with his tongue. Aziraphale tasted the ocean, heat, as he took Crowley deep into his throat, feeling the length of his lover on his tongue. It felt so good to do this to him, the man that he was in love with. Listening to him moan with every lick and stroke was driving Aziraphale wild with desire as he grabbed Crowley’s legs in order to stabilise himself as the final licks brought on Crowley’s release. With a cry, Crowley came, spilling into Aziraphale’s mouth. Aziraphale lapped up every drop, savouring it like it was the manna and honey brought down from the heavens. 

Crowley pulled Aziraphale off of his knees, before bringing him close for a kiss. He could taste himself on Aziraphale’s lips, hot, salty. Aziraphale tasted so good, his lips with sex on them.  
Crowley could feel Aziraphale’s bulge through his trousers, straining for their own release. He stroked the hardness through Aziraphale’s clothes, causing his lover to gasp at the sensation. 

“What do you want, Angel?” Crowley asked, as he continued to caress Aziraphale’s hardness. 

“I want you,” Aziraphale gasped, “I want you around me, I need to feel you…”

Crowley smiled. “I may have prepared myself for you,” he said, “I’ve wanted you to take me for so long…”

“Then I shall,” Aziraphale said, “You’ve got what we need, right?”

“Silly Angel,” Crowley said, gesturing to the drawer under the desk, “I was a Scout once, always prepared.”

Aziraphale chuckled as Crowley passed him a condom and a bottle of lube. Crowley then pulled Aziraphale’s bow tie undone, letting it fall to the ground. Shirt buttons were undone deftly, as was the zipper of Aziraphale’s trousers. Both of them were now naked, skin gently glowing in the mirror lights. 

“How do you get so much more beautiful?” Crowley asked, his voice filled with awe. Aziraphale blushed, looking away slightly shyly. 

“Look at me, Angel,” Crowley said, cupping his hand around Aziraphale’s face, “You are so beautiful, I love you so very dearly. I shall spend the rest of my life making up for all the years you felt plain, or ugly, by reminding you of how gorgeous and beautiful you are.”

Aziraphale said nothing, but kissed Crowley with a renewed sense of courage. Crowley made him brave. Crowley made him feel like he was enough. Aziraphale loved Crowley, couldn’t wait to spend the rest of his life with him. 

Carefully, he put on the condom that Crowley had passed to him. He then carefully got Crowley to face away from him, so that he could easily get to his ass. He spread Crowley’s cheeks apart, before kissing him, caressing him with his tongue. 

Crowley groaned, feeling himself harden once again as Aziraphale lapped at him. He had to grab at the edge of the desk, as there was no way that he would be able to stand upright, as waves of pleasure and need crashed through his being. “Ngk, Angel…” he gasped. 

“Patience is a virtue, my dear heart,” Aziraphale said soothingly, before returning to his task. After a moment or two, Aziraphale then got some lube on his fingers, and started to open Crowley up, causing him to groan even more. 

“So responsive,” Aziraphale murmured, “You must really need me right now.”

Crowley, at this point, was only able to moan with agreement, words had flown out of his mind a while ago. 

Aziraphale positioned himself. Slowly, he filled Crowley with his cock. A growl was emitted from Crowley as he felt Aziraphale filling him up. “Yes, just like that,” Crowley said, gripping the desk tighter, “That feels so good…”

Gently, Aziraphale began to thrust into Crowley, grunting as he went deeper into him. 

“Faster, Angel, please,” Crowley whined. 

Aziraphale pulled Crowley closer to him, peppering his shoulders and neck with kisses as he sped up his thrusts, faster and faster, as a hurricane of pleasure rushed through him, over and over, the pressure building up deep inside him as he pushed over the edge…

Aziraphale came, crying out Crowley’s name as he filled Crowley with all that he had within him. Crowley soon joined him over the edge, panting and sweaty. Reluctantly, they came apart, kissing each other so softly, shuddering as aftershocks of sensation rocked through their bodies. 

The condom was disposed of. 

The two men held each other close, loathe to ever be parted again, it had felt like six thousand years, but now they had found one another. They were never going to let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took a while! I've been getting used to getting back to work and juggling my life with this fic. I've also been promoted to Section Leader at Scouts, so I'm getting used to having all the extra responsibilities that are attached to it! I've been lurking on other people's fics and thinking 'I need to write the next chapter of No Day But Today', but get waylaid with life admin and all the Netflix. Also, I'm hyped because Good Omens is now on the BBC (BBC Two for all you UK readers!). I had to make myself go out to a coffee shop to get something written. 
> 
> I felt like we've had quite a bit of plot, so I thought I would reward with some much-needed smut. It also turns out my boyfriend is more able to write smut than I was aware of... I may also have another AU or two to work with after this one is done thanks to him!
> 
> I hope that everyone's 2020 has gone to a good start, like mine has!


	21. I Can't Believe You're Going...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the calm before a storm, when Aziraphale and Crowley begin to truly settle into a peaceful life...
> 
> WARNING: Brief talk of death and grim foreshadowing at the end of this chapter...

The month of Previews rushed by for Aziraphale in a blur. The run throughs of the show itself went with only a few minor technical difficulties (the spotlight on Crowley’s One Song Glory exploding was probably the most memorable, causing Newt to be permanently banned from changing the stage light’s lightbulbs for the foreseeable future). Coming out of the Backstage Door into crowds of adoring audience members screaming his name was overwhelming yet validating of everything that he had done to get to that point. He had his love, his fiancé by his side the whole time, holding his hand or casually throwing an arm around his shoulders, perhaps even holding him close with an arm snaked around his waist. 

The happiness that Aziraphale had in his heart was flowing as he threw himself into his life. A month after Grandmamma fell sick, the couple had finally figured out that they needed to have their own place, so Crowley had moved out of his flat and into Aziraphale’s, which was cosier and warmer for those winter nights in. Coming home after every performance was such a pleasure, sinking into the cushions on the sofa with a glass of wine or a mug of cocoa to watch an episode of Brooklyn 99 before going to bed felt so domestic, so right. When Aziraphale went off to shul on a Friday night, coming home to Crowley lighting candles and putting dinner on the table, it had felt just perfect.

Wedding planning was in full swing, magazines about wedding floristry strewn all over the coffee table mingling with coffee mugs and books. A crumpled, scribbled list of guests was trapped underneath a well thumbed through copy of Wicked – The Life and Times of The Wicked Witch of The West. Books about astronomy, and botany, as well as all of Tolkien and Terry Pratchett’s books were muddled among the scripts, the text books and the Jewish study texts. Queen and other band posters were now mixed in with Aziraphale’s musicals posters on the walls, black cushions mixed with the tartan in a weird blend of both of their style choices. It ought to have been a clashing eye-sore of a place, but it actually felt more lived in than anything else. 

The couple had been enjoying a rare week off, as the latest mishap of Newt’s (the lighting switchboard happened to inconveniently catch on fire during a tech check and singe the lighting booth) had closed the theatre down for refurbishment and repairs. Crowley was flopped lengthways across the sofa, legs in Aziraphale’s lap, swiping through Instagram on his phone, whilst Aziraphale flipped through yet another wedding magazine, this one with two smiling grooms on the front cover. The soft sounds of piano music wafted through the space, filling it with a peace and calm that felt so serene, so fragile. 

Crowley sighed, reaching out to the coffee table to put his phone down, before playfully poking Aziraphale’s side with his foot. Aziraphale snorted with faux annoyance, putting down the magazine onto the coffee table, then tickling the offending foot, causing Crowley to yell out with laughter, sitting up and pulling his legs away.   
“That’ll teach you, you wily serpent,” Aziraphale said, chuckling fondly at Crowley. 

“What’s a man got to do to get the attention of his beloved Angel?” Crowley said, pretending to whine, “You were so engrossed with that magazine, I swear you were about to forget all about me…”  
Aziraphale playfully rolled his eyes, “How could I possibly forget about you, my dear boy?” He asked, shuffling closer to Crowley, “I’m getting ideas for planning our wedding, so we can spend the rest of our lives together, on our side,” he stroked Crowley’s thigh, feeling the shudder of the touch against his skin. 

Crowley closed the gap between them, caressing Aziraphale’s face with his hand, letting his forehead lean on Aziraphale’s. “Our side,” he breathed, “I like that.”

They were about to kiss when Aziraphale’s phone rang with the number of The Home. 

“Hello, Aziraphale Cohen here, how can I help?” 

He pulled away from Crowley, his face suddenly looking serious. Even his tone changed from that adoring, warm texture to a cool, professional one that he seemed to reserve for people he disliked or made him feel uncomfortable.

“Yes, that’s right. What’s happened?”  
After a pause, as he listened, Aziraphale leapt up from his seat, blood draining from his face. He looked at Crowley, frightened and desperate. 

Crowley knew that look. He’d only seen something similar to it once before. He stood up and went to grab their coats from the coat rack. He picked up his car keys, before handing over Aziraphale’s coat. 

“Of course, we’ll be right there. St. George’s? Of course, yes, we’re on our way.”

Aziraphale hung up. He looked like he was about to break down. 

“Let’s go,” Crowley said gently, wrapping an arm around Aziraphale’s shoulder, “She needs you.”

Aziraphale nodded silently, a tear rolling down his face. 

It had only been three weeks after that wonderful first preview night. Three weeks since he’d seen Grandmamma, smiling like there wasn’t a single care in the universe, looking so radiant, so healthy. She couldn’t possibly be sick again. 

She couldn’t possibly be dying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a while to get written! I hope everyone had a lovely Valentine's Day whether you are taken, single or complicated!
> 
> I've been at college, settling in to post-Christmas at work, a work trip to the Isle of Wight and may have started work on an original fiction novel. I also thought I was going to put the next big moment in this chapter (no spoilers, sorry, shhhh), as it will be really hard to write for me, I've been procrastinating hard. That said, I reread the chapter this morning and realised that I left off at a perfect point to end the chapter on anyway, so I'm finally posting!
> 
> I've also finally joined some Discord servers, so hello and welcome if you've come from Warlock Party House (If you haven't read Slow Show, where have you been?!?!?!? No Day But Today is mildly inspired by it!) or Gomens Party House! Thank you for inviting me into your brilliant worlds!


	22. I Can't Believe This Family Must Die...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At The Hospital, where things do Not turn out Alright.
> 
> CW: OC Character Death and Visceral reaction to the Death

When they arrived at the hospital, Aziraphale couldn’t help but notice just how brightly lit the place was. How sterile, how, well, clinical it all was. The smell of disinfectant burned the back of his throat, as he found the nearest nurse that had come out from a corridor, checking over a clipboard with what looked to be medical notes, shaking her head. 

“Where is she?”

The nurse looked up at Aziraphale. “Who are you looking for?” she asked. 

“Miriam Cohen? She was admitted to A&E this afternoon?”

The nurse’s face looked sad all of a sudden. “Yes, the cardiac arrest patient, she’s in Room 5, I’ll take you right there” she said. 

“Thank you,” Crowley said, taking Aziraphale gently by the arm, “Lead the way, Nurse.”

As they were walking down the corridor, the nurse asked, “You family?”

“Yes, I’m her grandson,” Aziraphale replied, voice shaking, “Will she be alright, do you think?”

The nurse still looked rather sad. “I can’t tell you, I’m afraid,” she replied, “I don’t think it’s fair to give you that false sense of hope. Your grandmother is in a really bad way.”

Crowley squeezed Aziraphale’s arm gently, whilst Aziraphale took a steadying breath that didn’t sound very steady at all. He pulled his arm out of Crowley’s trying very hard to keep calm as he adjusted his bow tie. 

Suddenly, an alarm rang through the corridor. Medical staff sprung into action, grabbing defibrillators and oxygen tanks, racing down the corridor past the three of them. The nurse excused herself, joining her colleagues as they raced to the room that had sounded the crash alarm. 

Room 5.

As the nurse disappeared through the swinging door, Aziraphale sniffed, blinking back tears. He was going to be strong for his Grandmamma, he was going to make sure that everything was going to be alright, all tickety boo. 

Except that it wasn’t. 

Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s hand. He felt Aziraphale squeezing it like it was all that he had, terrified that if he let go, that he’d run off and not look back. 

After what seemed forever, a doctor walked out of the room. He spotted Aziraphale and Crowley stood there, hand in hand. 

“You’re the family of Miriam Cohen?” he asked, “I’m Dr. Smith.” 

Aziraphale nodded. “I’m Aziraphale Cohen, her grandson. Will she be alright, Doctor?”

Please, he thought, let this just be a blip. Please, let me walk into that room to find her sat up in bed, smiling with a secret snack in her handbag, asking if that nice handsome doctor was free to go out for dinner tonight with a cheeky sparkle in her eye. Please let her be alright, please let her tell him off for being a silly goose, that it wouldn’t take one knock at her old ticker to knock her off to the afterlife. Please…

“I’m so sorry,” the doctor said, “There wasn’t anything we could do.”

“What do you mean, there wasn’t anything you could do?” Aziraphale said, his voice softly wavering.

“We couldn’t save her, Mr. Cohen. She has passed away. I am so very sorry for your loss.”

Aziraphale’s face crumpled. He didn’t notice that he’d screamed in the middle of the corridor. He didn’t notice Crowley crushing him to his chest, burying his face into his leather jacket. He didn’t realise that he was shaking as sobs racked through his entire body. He didn’t feel himself sinking to his knees, still tight in Crowley’s embrace. He couldn’t hear the fact that he was still screaming.  
He didn’t see that Crowley was quietly sobbing too. 

***

The room was silent as Aziraphale walked in. He’d decided that he needed to face this moment by himself, so Crowley dutifully stayed outside, waiting for his love to be ready to let him in.

He reached into his coat pocket, finding his beloved rainbow kippah that he’d forgotten to take out of it after his usual shul service only the week before. She’d made it for him, after he’d moved in with her, after he’d turned everything upside down and revealed his true self to everyone. It might not be the right colour for such an occasion, but it felt right for the moment. Carefully, he smoothed out the crinkles, before putting it on his head. It balanced on his curls, the gentle weight of it reassuring him, grounding him. 

He sat down on the chair next to the bed where Grandmamma lay. Her eyes were closed, she looked like she was only sleeping, sleeping so very peacefully. Her white curls were splayed out on the pillow, like tendrils of clouds that floated in the summer breeze against the blue sky. Her hands were laid by her sides over the crisp white hospital blanket. Carefully, Aziraphale took Grandmamma’s hand. It was so small and frail in his own. He was scared that if he moved wrong, gripped too tightly, that he would hurt her, even if her physical body would no longer feel it. Her hand felt cold, so very cold. 

Aziraphale could feel his eyes welling up once again. Despite everything, he took a deep breath, holding Grandmamma’s hand with one hand, covering his eyes with the other. Tears streamed down his face as he began to recite a prayer, a prayer that was as familiar to him as breathing. Yet as he tried to say it, he could feel it sticking in the back of his throat, lodging there like a bad omen. It was almost as if his voice was suggesting that if he didn’t say this final Shema for her, then she wouldn’t be dead, that she would sit up, smile at him warmly and hug him, just like she always did when he was hurt, sad or angry. But he said it, in a whisper, before uncovering his eyes and breaking down into more sobs, taking Grandmamma’s hand into both of his, holding it to his face as he sobbed.

He didn’t hear the door quietly open. He didn’t hear the footsteps of the doctors and nurses walking into the room. 

“Mr. Cohen? We have to take her away now,” Dr. Smith said. 

“Please, don’t take her,” Aziraphale sobbed, “She’ll be lonely without me.”

“I understand,” Dr. Smith said kindly, “This isn’t an easy thing to go through, but this pain will eventually pass. Not today. Not next week. Not even in a year. After a while, the hole in your heart will feel less sore, but it’ll always be there, ache every so often. I promise you that you’ll live through this.”

Crowley stepped into the room, as the nurses covered Grandmamma’s face with the blanket before wheeling her away. 

“NO! You can’t take her, please…” Aziraphale cried out weakly, leaping up from the chair and trying to catch up to the nurses. Crowley’s heart twisted, turned inside out and broke as he ran to Aziraphale, scooping him into a deep embrace once again. Aziraphale could feel Crowley’s fingers in his curls, trying to soothe him as he watched Grandmamma’s bed until it was completely out of sight.

“I’m so, so sorry, my Angel,” Crowley whispered, his voice just creaking with emotion, “I’m so sorry…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to the wonderful akinmytua on the warlock party house Discord Server for coaching me through writing this, I really appreciated the moral support and the advice so I could get this down. 
> 
> As I mentioned before, I find that my writing is my way of processing things that take place in my own life, in this case, the fact that I am very much grieving for grandparents that were a huge part of my early childhood, but foster care wrenched me from them so I have a very patchy relationship about them. 
> 
> I just wasn't quite expecting Aziraphale's reaction, as I tend to model him after myself quite a bit. 
> 
> I promise that there's only one angsty chapter to go, then it'll be towards the end of this fic! I recon another four chapters ought to do nicely. Thank you so much for sticking with me through this, and for all the comments and kudos, they keep me going for sure, especially as I do have another potential GO project up my sleeve that *gasp* isn't a fic?


	23. I'll Be There, and I'll Cover You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale always knew that the first night back after his mourning period would be the hardest. Luckily, he isn't alone.

Aziraphale knew that the first show back after everything would be one of the hardest things that he has ever had to do. But he had to slowly come back into the world, it had felt too long since he’d been stood on that stage, the one that had brought him to the life that he had been given. The life that he knew that Grandmamma was proud of him for living. 

He said his lines, then stepped back as Robert stepped forward. The opening notes began to play, as he began to sing. 

“Live in my house, I'll be your shelter, just pay me back, with one thousand kisses…” he sang, watching as Daniel, wrapped in the white sheet from his death scene, walked slowly behind him, exiting the stage for the last time before the encore. 

“Be my lover, And I'll cover you, Yeah…”

Aziraphale could feel the lump in his throat making itself known. It had been sat there for a good month now. Everyone had been so kind to him. They’d sent him sympathy cards, dropped meals around to the apartment that he and Crowley shared whilst he’d sat Shiva. They’d sat with him, held him whilst he cried, listened to him talk. Everyone had treated him with kid gloves. Now it was time to re-enter the world, the world that he loved so very much. 

“Open your door, I'll be your tenant, don't got much baggage, to lay at your feet but sweet kisses I've got to spare,” Robert continued, “I'll be there, and I'll cover you, Oh…”

There had been various moments that day that Aziraphale had done his very best not to cry. Putting a framed photograph of him and Grandmamma at his graduation ceremony from Drama School, him standing behind her, arms thrown over her shoulders, all splendid in his graduation robes, cap balanced awkwardly on his curls whilst she beamed at the camera, onto his dressing table. Anathema and Hastur holding his hands in the vocal warm-up circle, giving them reassuring squeezes as he settled back into the routine of a one show day. Gabriel coming up to him to pat his shoulder and ask how he was getting on. The awkward smile shot from Bee during dance rehearsal. 

But he had managed to hold it in. 

“I think they meant it, when they said you can't buy love, now I know you can rent it, a new lease you are my love,” Robert sang, his voice growing raw with emotion, “On life, all my life…. I've longed to discover, something as true as this is, yeah…”

A few hours before curtain call, Aziraphale had been sat in the dressing room. He’d put on the Spotify playlist that he and Crowley had curated after Shiva was over, songs that Grandmamma had loved, as well as songs that were comforting to him whilst he continued to grieve. A cup of cocoa in the angel wings mug was sat on the table getting cold, with a slice of banana bread leaning against it. His costume was hung up on the rails, his stage makeup and Mark’s glasses scattered across the table. 

For the first time since he’d first gotten the role of Mark, Aziraphale found himself staring at his own reflection. His face was more toned in shape, his eyes had bags under them from hours of restless tossing and turning. He’d washed his hair that morning, so it stuck out in random tufts of curls. He ran his fingers through the curls, causing them to look even more messy. Not that he really cared all that much. He looked tired. He felt tired. He looked like there was a weight on his shoulders. He felt like there was a weight on his shoulders. 

Crowley walked into the dressing room, closing the door behind him. He saw Aziraphale sat there. Something in his chest twisted. He hated seeing his lover like this, sad, not quite there. He walked up to Aziraphale, and wrapped his arms around his shoulders from behind, kissing him softly on the cheek. 

“Hello, Angel,” he said softly. 

“Hello, dear,” Aziraphale replied, leaning back and melting at Crowley’s touch. The smoky cologne that Crowley had on was so warm and comforting, so Aziraphale let it envelope him as he took a deep breath. He felt more together, more in the world whenever Crowley was there beside him. 

The playlist started to play Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy. 

Crowley let go of Aziraphale, then offered him his hand. Aziraphale raised an eyebrow but accepted it anyway. 

“I can dim the lights and sing you songs full of sad things, we can do the tango just for two, I can serenade and gently play on your heart strings, be your Valentino just for you…” Freddie Mercury crooned, as Crowley brought Aziraphale close to him, swaying from side to side gently. 

He’d taken off his sunglasses, so Aziraphale was able to look into Crowley’s eyes. They were as golden as ever, though glossier than usual. Aziraphale laid his head on Crowley’s chest, as they slowly shuffled together to the music. 

Oh, he loved him. He loved him so much. And he didn’t even need to say anything, not at all. He was allowed to just be. Be comforted, quietly loved and adored by someone. 

Aziraphale had that moment deep in his heart as he stood on the stage that night, watching Robert and the rest of the cast continue to sing something that had never really touched him quite as much until now. 

“So, with a thousand sweet kisses…” Helen sang, stepping forward and taking Robert’s hand, “I’ll cover you,” the sang together.

“525600 minutes,” Aziraphale sang, along with the rest of the cast, tears finally breaking through, pouring down his cheeks. 

“You’ve got one nickel only,” Robert sang, anguish in his voice.

“525600 moments so dear…” Aziraphale sang, his voice choked as he kept the harmony going with his castmates. Crowley shot him a quick, meaningful look that told him all he needed to know in that moment. 

“With a thousand sweet kisses, I’ll cover you…”

“When you’re worn out and tired…”

“525600 minutes…”

“When your heart has expired!”

“Oh, lover, I’ll cover you…” everyone sang, tears now flowing from the whole cast, who had stolen looks at Aziraphale. They were mourning with him, crying with him. They were in this together, no matter what. 

“525600 minutes, 525600 seasons of love…”

“I’ll cover you…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to write the funeral, and Aziraphale's Shiva, but felt that would be too invasive of his privacy, he deserved that time to himself to have that grieving process to himself without me revealing it to the world (I know he's a fictional character, but still.) I felt that this would be a better way to end the arc to be honest with you. 
> 
> I promise that there's only joy and happiness from this chapter onwards.


End file.
